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BOOKS BY BRET HARTE 


For complete list see 
pages at the back 
of this volume 


THE TWINS 


OF 

TABLE MOUNTAIN, 

AND OTHER STORIES. 



BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

JUL 8 190? 

Cepyrisrht Entry 
CUSS /f XXc. No. 

nut,*? 



COPYRIGHT 1879 BY HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT 1907 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


v o l 


V c, 

** u 

«'CC 




CONTENTS. 

— ♦ — 

I. The Twins of Table Mountain ... 5 

II. An Heiress of Red Dog 109 

III. The Great Deadwood Mystery . . . 149 

IY. A Legend of Sammtstadt 193 

Y. Yiews from a German Spion .... 227 











THE 


TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN. 

HEY lived on the verge of a vast stony 



-L level, upheaved so far above the sur- 
rounding country that its vague outlines, 
viewed from the nearest valley, seemed a mere 
cloud-streak resting upon the lesser hills. The 
rush and roar of the turbulent river that 
washed its eastern base were lost at that 
height ; the winds that strove with the giant 
pines that half way climbed its flanks spent 
their fury below the summit ; for, at variance 
with most meteorological speculation, an eter- 
nal calm seemed to invest this serene altitude. 
The few Alpine flowers seldom thrilled their 
petals to a passing breeze ; rain and snow fell 


5 


6 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

alike perpendicularly, heavily, and monoto- 
nously over the granite bowlders scattered 
along its brown expanse. Although by actual 
measurement an inconsiderable elevation of 
the Sierran range, and a mere shoulder of the 
nearest white-faced peak that glimmered in the 
west, it seemed to lie so near the quiet, pas- 
sionless stars, that at night it caught some- 
thing of their calm remoteness. The articu- 
late utterance of such a locality should have 
been a whisper ; a laugh or exclamation was 
discordant ; and the ordinary tones of the 
human voice on the night of the 15th of May, 
1868, had a grotesque incongruity. 

In the thick darkness that clothed the moun- 
tain that night, the human figure would have 
been lost, or confounded with the outlines of 
outlying bowlders, which at such times took 
upon themselves the vague semblance of men 
and animals. Hence the voices in the follow- 
ing colloquy seemed the more grotesque and 
incongruous from being the apparent expres- 
sion of an upright monolith, ten feet high, on 
the right, and another mass of granite, that, 
reclining, peeped over the verge. 


A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN. 


7 


44 Hello ! ” 

44 Hello yourself! ” 

44 You’re late.” 

44 1 lost the trail, and climbed up the slide.” 

Here followed a stumble, the clatter of 
stones down the mountain-side, and an oath 
so very human and undignified that it at once 
relieved the bowlders of an}’ complicity of 
expression. The voices, too, were close to- 
gether now, and unexpectedly in quite another 
locality. 

44 Any thing up? ” 

44 Looey Napoleon’s declared war agin Ger- 
many.” 

44 Sho-o-o ! ” 

Notwithstanding this exclamation, the inter- 
est of the latter speaker was evidently only 
polite and perfunctory. What, indeed, were 
the political convulsions of the Old World to 
the dwellers on this serene, isolated eminence 
of the New? 

44 1 reckon it’s so,” continued the first 
voice. “French Pete and that thar feller 
that keeps the Dutch grocer}’ hev hed a row 
over it; emptied their six-shooters into each 


8 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


other. The Dutchman’s got two balls in his 
leg, and the Frenchman’s got an onnessary 
buttonhole in his shirt-buzzum, and hez caved 
in.” 

This concise, local corroboration of the con- 
flict of remote nations, however^confirmator}’, 
did not appear to excite any further interest. 
Even the last speaker, now that he was in this 
calm, dispassionate atmosphere, seemed to lose 
his own concern in his tidings, and to have 
abandoned every thing of a sensational and 
lower-worldty character in the pines below. 
There were a few moments of absolute silence r 
and then another stumble. But now the voices 
of both speakers were quite patient and philo- 
sophical. 

“ Hold on, and I’ll strike a light,” said the 
second speaker. “ I brought a lantern along, 
but I didn’t light up. I kem out afore sun- 
down, and you know how it allers is up yer. 
I didn’t want it, and didn’t keer to light up. 
I forgot you’re always a little dazed and 
strange-like when }ou first come up.” 

There was a crackle, a flash, and presently 
a steady glow, which the surrounding darkness 


A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN. 


9 


seemed to resent. The faces of the two men 
thus revealed were singularly alike. The same 
thin, narrow outline of jaw and temple ; the 
same dark, grave eyes ; the same brown growth 
of curty beard and mustache, which concealed 
the mouth, and hid what might have been any 
individual idios} T ncrasy of thought or expres- 
sion, — showed them to be brothers, or better 
known as the “Twins of Table Mountain.” 
A certain animation in the face of the second 
speaker, — the first-comer, — a certain light in 
his eye, might have at first distinguished him ; 
but even this faded out in the steady glow of 
the lantern, and had no value as a permanent 
distinction, for, by the time they had reached 
the western verge of the mountain, the two 
faces had settled into a homogeneous calmness 
and melancholy. 

The vague horizon of darkness, that a few 
feet from the lantern still encompassed them, 
gave no indication of their progress, until their 
feet actually trod the rude planks and thatch 
that formed the roof of their habitation ; for 
their cabin half burrowed in the mountain, 
and half clung, like a swallow’s nest, to the 


10 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

side of the deep declivity that terminated the 
northern limit of the summit. Had it not 
been for the windlass of a shaft, a coil of rope, 
and a few heaps of stone and gravel, which 
were the only indications of human labor in 
that stony field, there was nothing to interrupt 
its monotonous dead level. And, when they 
descended a dozen well-worn steps to the door 
of their cabin, they left the summit, as before, 
lonely, silent, motionless, its long level unin- 
terrupted, basking in the cold light of the 
stars. 

The simile of a “nest” as applied to the 
cabin of the brothers was no mere figure of 
speech as the light of the lantern first flashed 
upon it. The narrow ledge before the door 
was strewn with feathers. A suggestion that 
it might be the home and haunt of predatory 
birds was promptly checked by the spectacle 
of the nailed-up carcasses of a dozen hawks 
against the walls, and the outspread wings of 
an extended eagle emblazoning the gable above 
the door, like an armorial bearing. Within the 
cabin the walls and chimney-piece were daz- 
ingly bedecked with the party-colored wings 


A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN. 


11 


of jays, yellow-birds, woodpeckers, kingfishers^ 
and the poly- tinted wood-duck. Yet in that 
dry, highly-rarefied atmosphere, there was not 
the slightest suggestion of odor or decay. 

The first speaker hung the lantern upon a 
hook that dangled from the rafters, and, going 
to the broad chimney, kicked the half-dead 
embers into a sudden resentful blaze. He 
then opened a rude cupboard, and, without 
looking around, called, “ Ruth ! ” 

The second speaker turned his head from 
the open doorway where he was leaning, as if 
listening to something in the darkness, and 
answered abstractedly, — 

“Rand!” 

“I don’t believe you have touched grub 
to-day ! ” 

Ruth grunted out some indifferent reply. 

“ Thar hezen’t been a slice cut off that bacon 
since I left,” continued Rand, bringing a side 
of bacon and some biscuits from the cupboard, 
and applying himself to the discussion of them 
at the table. “You’re gettin’ off yer feet, 
Ruth. What’s up?” 

Ruth replied by taking an uninvited seat 


12 TEE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

beside him, and resting his chin on the palms 
of his hands. He did not eat, but simply 
transferred his inattention from the door to 
the table. 

“You’re workin’ too many hours in the 
shaft,” continued Rand. “You’re always up 
to some such d — n fool business when I’m not 
yer.” 

“ I dipped a little west to-day,” Ruth went 
on, without heeding the brotherly remon- 
strance, “ and struck quartz and p3 r rites.” 

“ Thet’s you ! — allers dippin’ west or east 
for quartz and the color, instead of keeping on 
plumb down to the 4 cement ’ ! ” 1 

“ We’ve been three years digging for cem- 
ent,” said Ruth, more in abstraction than in 
reproach, — “ three years ! ” 

“ And we maybe three }’ears more — may 
be only three days. Why, you couldn’t be 
more impatient if — if — if you lived in a 
valley.” 

Delivering this tremendous comparison as 
an unanswerable climax, Rand applied him- 

1 The local name for gold-bearing alluvial drift, — the bed of 
a prehistoric river. 


A CLOUD ON TEE MOUNTAIN. 13 

self once more to his repast. Ruth after a 
moment’s pause, without speaking or looking 
up, disengaged his hand from under his chin, 
and slid it along, palm uppermost, on the 
table beside his brother. Thereupon Rand 
slowly reached forward his left hand, the right 
being engaged in combing victual to his 
mouth, and laid it on his brother’s palm. 
The act was evidently an habitual, half me- 
chanical one ; for in a few moments the hands 
were as gently disengaged, without comment 
or expression. At last Rand leaned back in 
his chair, laid down his knife and fork, and, 
complacently loosening the belt that held his 
revolver, threw it and the weapon on his bed. 
Taking out his pipe, and chipping some to- 
bacco on the table, he said carelessly, “ I 
came a piece through the woods with Mornie 
just now.” 

The face that Ruth turned upon his brother 
was ver} r distinct in its expression at that 
moment, and quite belied the popular theory 
that the twins could not be told apart. “ Thet 
gal,” continued Rand, without looking up, 
“ is either flighty, or — or suthin’,” he added 


14 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


in vague disgust, pushing the table from him 
as if it were the lad}’’ in question. “ Don’t 
tell me!” 

Ruth’s eyes quickly sought his brother’s, 
and were as quickly averted, as he asked 
hurriedly, “ How? ” 

“What gets me,” continued Rand in a 
petulant non sequitur , “ is that you , my own 
twin-brother, never lets on about her cornin’ 
yer, permiskus like, when I ain’t yer, and 
you and her gallivantin’ and promanadin’, and 
swoppin’ sentiments and mottoes.” 

Ruth tried to contradict his blushing face 
with a laugh of worldly indifference. 

“ She came up yer on a sort of pasear” — 

“Oh, yes! — a short cut to the creek,” 
interpolated Rand satirically. 

“Last Tuesday or Wednesday,” continued 
Ruth, with affected forgetfulness. 

“Oh, in course, Tuesday, or Wednesday, or 
Thursday ! You’ve so many folks climbing up 
this yer mountain to call on ye,” continued 
the ironical Rand, “that you disremember ; 
only you remembered enough not to tell me. 
She did. She took me for you, or pretended 
to ” 


A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN. 15 

The color dropped from Ruth’s cheek. 

“Took you for me?” he asked, with an 
awkward laugh. 

“Yes,” sneered Rand ; “ chirped and chat- 
tered away about our picnic, our nosegays, 
and lord knows what ! Said she’d keep then} 
blue-jay’s wings, and wear ’em in her hat. 
Spouted poetry too, — the same sort o’ rot 
you get off now and then.” 

Ruth laughed again, but rather ostenta- 
tiously and nervously. 

“Ruth, look yer ! ” 

Ruth faced his brother. 

“What’s your little game? Do you mean 
to say you don’t know what thet gal is ? Do 
you mean to say you don’t know thet she’s 
the laughing-stock of the Ferry ; thet her 
father’s a d — d old fool, and her mother’s a 
drunkard and worse ; thet she’s got any right 
to be hanging round yer? You can’t mean 
to marry her, even if you kalkilate to turn 
me out to do it, for she wouldn’t live alone 
with ye up here. ’Tain’t her kind. And if 
I thought you was thinking of ” — 

“What?” said Ruth, turning upon his 
brother quickly. 


16 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


“Oh, thet’s right! Holler; swear and 
yell, and break things, do! Tear round !” 
continued Rand, kicking his boots off in a 
corner, “just because I ask you a civil ques- 
tion. That’s brotherly,” he added, jerking 
his chair away against the side of the cabin, 
“ain’t it?” 

“ She’s not to blame because her mother 
drinks, and her father’s a shyster,” said Ruth 
earnestly and strongly. “ The men who 
make her the laughing-stock of the Ferry 
tried to make her something worse, and failed, 
and take this sneak’s revenge on her. 
4 Laughing-stock ! ’ Yes, they knew she could 
turn the tables on them.” 

“ Of course ; go on ! She’s better than 
me. I know I’m a fratricide, that’s what I 
am,” said Rand, throwing himself on the 
upper of the two berths that formed the bed- 
stead of the cabin. 

“I’ve seen, her three times,” continued 
Ruth. 

“And you’ve known me twenty 3 r ears,” 
interrupted his brother. 

Ruth turned on his heel, and walked to- 
wards the door. 


A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN. 17 

u That’s right; go on! Why don’t you 
get the chalk? ” 

Ruth made no reply. Rand descended from 
the bed, and, taking a piece of chalk from the 
shelf, drew a line on the floor, dividing the 
cabin in two equal parts. 

“ You can have the east half,” he said, as he 
climbed slowly back into bed. 

This mysterious rite was the usual termina- 
tion of a quarrel between the twins. Each 
man kept his half of the cabin until the feud 
was forgotten. It was the mark of silence 
and separation, over which no words of re- 
crimination, argument, or even explanation, 
were delivered, until it was effaced b}’ one or 
the other. This w r as considered equivalent to 
apology or reconciliation, which each were 
equally bound in honor to accept. 

It may be remarked that the floor was much 
whiter at this line of demarcation, and under 
the fresh chalk-line appeared the faint evi- 
dences of one recently effaced. 

Without apparentlj r heeding this potential 
ceremony, Ruth remained leaning against the 
doorway, looking upon the night, the bulk of 


18 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

whose profundity and blackness seemed to be 
gathered below him. The vault above was 
serene and tranquil, with a few large far-spaced 
stars ; the abyss beneath, untroubled by sight 
or sound. Stepping out upon the ledge, he 
leaned far over the shelf that sustained their 
cabin, and listened. A faint rhythmical roll, 
rising and falling in long undulations against 
the invisible horizon, to his accustomed ears 
told him the wind was blowing among the 
pines in the valley. Yet, mingling with this 
familiar sound, his ear, now morbidly acute, 
seemed to detect a stranger inarticulate mur- 
mur, as of confused and excited voices, swell- 
ing up from the mysterious depths to the stars 
above, and again swallowed up in the gulfs of 
silence below. He was roused from a consid- 
eration of this phenomenon by a faint glow 
towards the east, which at last brightened, 
until the dark outline of the distant walls of 
the valley stood out against the sk} T . Were 
his other senses participating in the delusion 
of his ears? for with the brightening light 
came the faint odor of burning timber. 

His face grew anxious as he gazed. At 


A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN. 


19 


last he rose, and re-entered the cabin. His 
eyes fell upon the faint chalk-mark, and tak- 
ing his soft felt hat from his head, with a few 
practical sweeps of the brim he brushed away 
the ominous record of their late estrangement. 
Going to the bed whereon Rand lay stretched, 
open-e}’ed, he would have laid his hand upon 
his arm lightly^ ; but the brother’s fingers 
sought and clasped his own. “Get up,” he 
said quietly : “ there’s a strange fire in the 
Canon head that I can’t make out.” 

Rand slowly clambered from his shelf, and 
hand in hand the brothers stood upon the 
ledge. “It’s a right smart chance bej’ond 
the Ferry, and a piece beyond the Mill too,” 
said Rand, shading his eyes with his hand, 
from force of habit. “It’s in the woods 
where ’ ’ — He would have added where he 
met Mornie ; but it was a point of honor with 
the twins, after reconciliation, not to allude to 
any topic of their recent disagreement. 

Ruth dropped his brother’s hand. “It 
doesn’t smell like the woods,” he said slowly. 

“ Smell ! ” repeated Rand incredulously. 
“ Why, it’s twenty miles in a bee-line yonder. 
Smell, indeed ! ” 


20 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

Ruth was silent, but presently fell to listen- 
ing again with his former abstraction. “ You 
don’t hear any thing, do you? ” he asked after 
a pause. 

“ It’s blowin’ in the pines on the river,” 
said Rand shortly. 

“ You don’t hear any thing else? ” 

“No.” 

“ Nothing like — like — like ” — 

Rand, who had been listening with an in- 
tensity that distorted the left side of his face, 
interrupted him impatiently. 

“ Like what? ” 

“ Like a woman sobbin’ ? ” 

“ Ruth,” said Rand, suddenly looking up in 
his brother’s face, “ what’s gone of you?” 

Ruth laughed. “The fire’s out,” he said, 
abruptly re-entering the cabin. “ I’m goin’ 
to turn in.” 

Rand, following his brother half reproach- 
ful^, saw him divest himself of his clothing, 
and roll himself in the blankets of his bed. 

. “ Good-night, Randy ! ” 

Rand hesitated. He would have liked to 
ask his brother another question ; but there 


A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN. 


21 


was clearty nothing to be done but follow his 
example. 

“Good-night, Ruthy ! ” he said, and put 
out the light. As he did so, the glow in the 
eastern horizon faded too, and darkness seemed 
to well up from the depths below, and, flowing 
in the open door, wrapped them in deeper 
slumber. 


22 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


II. 

THE CLOUDS GATHER. 

Twelve months had elapsed since the quar- 
rel and reconciliation, during which interval 
no reference was made b} r either of the broth- 
ers to the cause which had provoked it. Rand 
was at work in the shaft, Ruth having that 
morning undertaken the replenishment of the 
larder with game from the wooded skirt of 
the mountain. Rand had taken advantage of 
his brother’s absence to “prospect” in the 
“drift,” — a proceeding utterly at variance 
with his previous condemnation of all such 
speculative essay ; but Rand, despite his as- 
sumption of a superior practical nature, was 
not above certain local superstitions. Having 
that morning put on his gray flannel shirt 
wrong side out, — an abstraction recognized 
among the miners as the sure forerunner of 


THE CLOUDS GATHER 


23 


divination and treasure-discovery, — he could 
not forego that opportunity of trying his luck, 
without hazarding a dangerous example. He 
was also conscious of feeling “ chipper,’ ’ — 
another local expression for buo} T ancy of spirit, 
not common to men who work fifty feet below 
the surface, without the stimulus of air and 
sunshine, and not to be overlooked as an im- 
portant factor in fortunate adventure. Never- 
theless, noon came without the discovery of 
any treasure. He had attacked the walls on 
either side of the lateral “drift” skilfully, so 
as to expose their quality without dest^dng 
their cohesive integrity, but had found nothing. 
Once or twice, returning to the shaft for rest 
and air, its grim silence had seemed to him 
pervaded with some vague echo of cheerful 
holiday voices above. This set him to think- 
ing of his brother’s equally extravagant fancy 
of the wailing voices in the air on the night of 
the fire, and of his attributing it to a lover’s 
abstraction. 

4 4 1 laid it to his being struck after that gal ; 
and yet,” Rand continued to himself, “here’s 
me, who haven’t been foolin’ round no gal, 


24 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

and dog m3’ skin if I didn’t think I heard one 
singin’ up thar ! ” He put his foot on the 
lower round of the ladder, paused, and slowl) r 
ascended a dozen steps. Here he paused 
again. All at once the whole shaft was filled 
with the musical vibrations of a woman’s 
song. Seizing the rope that hung idly from 
the windlass, he half climbed, half swung him- 
self, to the surface. 

The voice was there ; but the sudden transi- 
tion to the dazzling level before him at first 
blinded his eyes, so that he took in only by 
degrees the unwonted spectacle of the singer, 
— a pretty girl, standing on tiptoe on a bowl- 
der not a dozen yards from him, utterty ab- 
sorbed in tying a gajdy-striped neckerchief, 
evidentl}’ taken from her own plump throat, 
to the halliards of a freshly-cut hickor} T -pole 
newfy reared as a flag-staff beside her. The 
liickor}’-pole, the halliards, the fluttering scarf, 
the 3 r oung lady herself, were all glaring inno- 
vations on the familiar landscape ; but Rand, 
with his hand still on the rope, silentl3 r and 
demurely enjo3 T ed it. 

For the better understanding of the general 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


2,1 


reader, who does not live on an isolated moun- 
tain, it may be observed that the young lady’s 
position on the rock exhibited some study of 
pose, and a certain exaggeration of attitude, 
that betra} r ed the habit of an audience ; also 
that her voice had an artificial accent that was 
not wholly unconscious, even in this lofty soli- 
tude. Yet the very next moment, when she 
turned, and caught Rand’s e}'e fixed upon her, 
she started naturally, colored slightly, uttered 
that feminine adjuration, “ Good Lord! gra- 
cious ! goodness me! ” which is seldom used 
in reference to its effect upon the hearer, 
and skipped instantty from the bowlder to the 
ground. Here, however, she alighted in a 
pose , brought the right heel of her neatly-fit- 
ting left boot closety into the hollowed side of 
her right instep, at the same moment deftly 
caught her flying skirt, whipped it around her 
ankles, and, slightly raising it behind, permit- 
ted the chaste display of an inch or two of 
frilled white petticoat. The most irreverent 
critic of the sex will, I think, admit that it 
has some movements that are automatic. 

“Hope I didn’t disturb ye,” said Rand, 
pointing to the flag-staff. 


26 THE TWIN’S OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

The young lady slightly turned her head. 
“No,” she said; “but I didn’t know any- 
body was here, of course. Our party ” — she 
emphasized the word, and accompanied it with 
a look toward the further extremity of the 
plateau, to show she was not alone — “our 
party climbed this ridge, and put up this pole 
as a sign to show they did it.” The ridicu- 
lous self-complacenc}' of this record in the 
face of a man who was evidently a dweller on 
the mountain apparently struck her for the 
first time. “We didn’t know,” she stam- 
mered, looking at the shaft from which Rand 
had emerged, 4 * that — that ’ ’ — She stopped, 
and, glancing again towards the distant range 
where her friends had disappeared, began to 
edge away. 

“ They can’t be far off,” interposed Rand 
quietly, as if it were the most natural thing in 
the world for the lady to be there. “Table 
Mountain ain’t as big as all that. Don’t you 
he scared ! So you thought nobody lived up 
here?” 

She turned upon him a pair of honest hazel 
eyes, which not only contradicted the some- 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


27 


what meretricious smartness of her dress, but 
was utterly inconsistent with the palpable arti- 
ficial color of her hair, — an obvious imitation 
of a certain popular fashion then known in 
artistic circles as the “ British Blonde/ * — and 
began to ostentatiously resume a pair of lemon- 
colored kid gloves. Having, as it were, thus 
indicated her standing and respectabilit}', and 
put an immeasurable distance between herself 
and her bold interlocutor, she said impres- 
sively, “ We evidently made a mistake : I will 
rejoin our party, who will, of course, apolo- 
gize.” 

“What’s your hurry?” said the impertur- 
bable Rand, disengaging himself from the rope, 
and walking towards her. “ As long as you’re 
up here, you might stop a spell.” 

“I have no wish to intrude; that is, our 
party certainly has not,” continued the young 
lady, pulling the tight gloves, and smoothing 
the plump, almost bursting fingers, with an 
affectation of fashionable ease. 

“ Oh ! I haven’t any thing to do just now,” 
said Rand, “and it’s about grub time, I 
reckon. Yes, I live here, Ruth and me,— 
right here.” 


28 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

The young woman glanced at the shaft. 

“No, not down there,” said Rand, follow- 
ing her eye, with a laugh. “ Come here, and 
I’ll show you.” 

A strong desire to keep up an appearance of 
genteel reserve, and an equally strong inclina- 
tion to enjoy the adventurous company of this 
good-looking, hearty young fellow, made her 
hesitate. Perhaps she regretted having under- 
taken a role of such dignity at the beginning : 
she could have been so perfectly natural with 
this perfectly natural man, whereas any relax- 
ation now might increase his familiarity. And 
yet she was not without a vague suspicion that 
her dignity and her gloves were alike thrown 
away on him, — a fact made the more evident 
when Rand stepped to her side, and, without 
any apparent consciousness of disrespect or 
gallantry, laid his large hand, half persua- 
sive^, half fraternally, upon her shoulder, and 
said, “ Oh, come along, do ! ” 

The simple act either exceeded the limits of 
her forbearance, or decided the course of her 
subsequent behavior. She instantly stepped 
back a single pace, and. drew her left foot 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


29 


slowly and deliberately after her ; then she 
fixed her eyes and uplifted eyebrows upon the 
daring hand, and, taking it by the ends of her 
thumb and forefinger, lifted it, and dropped it 
in mid-air. She then folded her arms. It was 
the indignant gesture with which “ Alice,” the 
Pride of Dumballin Village, received the loath- 
some advances of the bloated aristocrat, Sir 
Parkyns Parky n, and had at Ma^sville, a few 
nights before, brought down the house. 

This effect was, I think, however, lost upon 
Rand. The slight color that rose to his cheek 
as he looked down upon his clay-soiled hands 
was due to the belief that he had really con- 
taminated her outward superfine person. But 
his color quickly passed : his frank, boyish 
smile returned, as he said, “It’ll rub off. 
Lord, don’t mind that ! Thar, now — come 
on!” 

The young woman bit her lip. Then nature 
triumphed ; and she laughed, although a little 
scornfully. And then Providence assisted her 
with the sudden presentation of two figures, 
a man and woman, slowly climbing up over 
the mountain verge, not far from them. With 


80 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


a cry of 44 There’s Sol, now ! ” she forgot her 
dignity and her confusion, and ran towards 
them. 

Rand stood looking after her neat figure, less 
concerned in the advent of the strangers than 
in her sudden caprice. He was not so young 
and inexperienced but that he noted certain 
ambiguities in her dress and manner : he was 
by no means impressed by her dignity. But 
he could not help watching her as she appeared 
to be volubly recounting her late interview to 
her companions ; and, still unconscious of any 
impropriety or obtrusiveness, he lounged down 
lazily towards her. Her humor had evidently 
changed ; for she turned an honest, pleased 
face upon him, as she girlishly attempted to 
drag the strangers forward. 

The man was plump and short ; unlike the 
natives of the locality, he was closely cropped 
and shaven, as if to keep down the strong 
blue-blackness of his beard and hair, which 
nevertheless asserted itself over his round 
cheeks and upper lip like a tattooing of Indian 
ink. The woman at his side was reserved and 
indistinctive, with that appearance of being an 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


31 


unenthusiastic family servant peculiar to some 
men’s wives. When Rand was within a few 
feet of him, he started, struck a theatrical atti- 
tude, and, shading his eyes with his hand, cried, 
“ What, do me eyes deceive me ! ” burst into 
a hearty laugh, darted forward, seized Rand’s 
hand, and shook it briskly. 

44 Pinkney, Pinkney, my boy ! how are you? 
And this is your little 4 prop ? ’ your quarter- 
section, your country-seat, that we’ve been 
trespassing on, eh? A nice little spot, cool, 
sequestered, remote, — a trifle unimproved; 
carriage-road as yet unfinished. Ila, ha! 
But to think of our making a discovery of 
this inaccessible mountain, climbing it, sir, 
for two mortal hours, christening it 4 Sol’s 
Peak,’ getting up a flag-pole, unfurling our 
standard to the breeze, sir, and then, b}^ Gad, 
winding up by finding Pinkney, the festive 
Pinkney, living on it at home ! ’ ’ 

Completely surprised, but still perfectly 
good-humored, Rand shook the stranger’s 
right hand warmly, and received on his broad 
shoulders a welcoming thwack from the left, 
without question. 44 She don’t mind her 


32 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


friends making free with me evidently,’ ’ said 
Rand to himself, as he tried to suggest that 
fact to the 3'oung lady in a meaning glance. 

The stranger noted his glance, and suddenly 
passed his hand thoughtfully over his shaven 
cheeks. “No,” he said — “yes, surety, I 
forget — yes, I see; of course 3 r ou don’t! 
Rosy,” turning to his wife, “ of course, Pink- 
ney doesn’t know Phemie, eh? ” 

“ No, nor me either, Sol,” said that lady 
warningty. 

“Certainty!” continued Sol. “It’s his 
misfortune. You weren’t with me at Gold Hill. 
— Allow me,” he said, turning to Rand, “ to 
present Mrs. Sol Saunders, wife of the under- 
signed, and Miss Euphemia Neville, other- 
wise known as the c Marysville Pet,’ the best 
variety actress known on the provincial boards. 
Played Ophelia at Marysville, Friday ; domes- 
tic drama at Gold Hill, Saturday ; Sunday 
night, four songs in character, different dress 
each time, and a clog-dance. The best clog- 
dance on the Pacific Slope,” he added in a 
stage aside. “ The minstrels are crazy to get 
her in ’Frisco. But money can’t buj' her — - 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


33 


prefers the legitimate drama to this sort of 
thing.’ * Here he took a few steps of a jig, to 
which the 4 4 Marysville Pet ’ ’ beat time with her 
feet, and concluded with a laugh and a wink 
— the combined expression of an artist’s ad- 
miration for her ability, and a man of the 
world’s scepticism of feminine ambition. 

Miss Euphemia responded to the formal in- 
troduction by extending her hand frankly with 
a re-assuring smile to Rand, and an utter 
obliviousness of her former hauteur. Rand 
shook it warmly, and then dropped carelessly 
on a rock beside them. 

44 And }'ou never told me you lived up here 
in the attic, you rascal! ” continued Sol with 
a laugh. 

44 No,” replied Rand simply. 44 How could 
I ? I never saw you before, that I re- 
member.” 

Miss Euphemia stared at Sol. Mrs. Sol 
looked up in her lord’s face, and folded her 
arms in a resigned expression. Sol rose to his 
feet again, and shaded his eyes with his hand, 
but this time quite seriously, and gazed at 
Rand’s smiling face. 


34 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


“ Good Lord ! Do you mean to say your 
name isn’t Pinkney? ” lie asked, with a half 
embarrassed laugh. 

“ It is Pinkney,” said Rand ; “ but I never 
met you before.” 

“ Didn’t you come to see a young lady that 
joined my troupe at Gold Hill last month, and 
say you’d meet me at Keeler’s Ferry in a day 
or two? ” 

“ No-o-o,” said Rand, with a good-humored 
laugh. u I haven’t left this mountain for two 
months.” 

He might have added more ; but his atten- 
tion was directed to Miss Euphemia, who 
during this short dialogue, having stuffed 
alternately her handkerchief, the corner of her 
mantle, and her gloves, into her mouth, re- 
strained herself no longer, but gave way to an 
uncontrollable fit of laughter. u O Sol!” 
she gasped explanatorily, as she threw herself 
alternately against him, Mrs. Sol, and a bowl- 
der, “you’ll kill me yet! O Lord! first we 
take possession of this man’s property, then 
we claim 7um.” The contemplation of this 
humorous climax affected her so that she was 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


35 


fain at last to walk away, and confide the rest 
of her speech to space. 

Sol joined in the laugh until his wife plucked 
his sleeve, and whispered something in his 
ear. In an instant his face became at once 
mysterious and demure. “ I owe you an 
apology,” he said, turning to Rand, but in a 
voice ostentatiously pitched high enough for 
Miss Euphemia to overhear: “I see I have 
made a mistake. A resemblance — only a 
mere resemblance, as I look at you now — led 
me astray. Of course you don’t know any 
young lady in the profession? ” 

“Of course he doesn’t, Sol,” said Miss 
Euphemia. “7 could have told you that 
He didn’t even know me/” 

The voice and mock-heroic attitude of the 
speaker was enough to relieve the general 
embarrassment with a laugh. Rand, now 
pleasantly conscious of only Miss Euphemia’ s 
presence, again offered the hospitality of his 
cabin, with the polite recognition of her friends 
in the sentence, “ and you might as well come 
along too.” 

“But won’t we incommode the lady of the 
house? ” said Mrs. Sol politely. 


36 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

“What lady of the house ?” said Rand 
almost angrily. 

“ Why, Ruth, you know ! ” 

It was Rand’s turn to become hilarious. 
4 ‘Ruth,” he said, “is short for Rutherford, 
my brother.” His laugh, however, was echoed 
only by Euphemia. 

“Then you have a brother?” said Mrs. 
Sol benignly. 

“Yes,” said Rand: “he will be here 
soon.” A sudden thought dropped the color 
from his cheek. “Look here,” he said, 
turning impulsively upon Sol. “I have a 
brother, a twin-brother. It couldn’t be him ” — 

Sol was conscious of a significant feminine 
pressure on his right arm. He was equal to 
the emergency. “ I think not,” he said dubi- 
ously, “unless y our brother’s hair is much 
darker than yours. Yes ! now I look at 3’ou, 
yours is brown. He has a mole on his right 
cheek, hasn’t he?” 

The red came quickly back to Rand’s boyish 
face. He laughed. “No, sir: my brother’s 
hair is, if any thing, a shade lighter than mine, 
and nary mole. Come along ! ” 


THE CLOUDS GATHER . 


37 


And, leading the way, Rand disclosed the 
narrow steps winding down to the shelf on 
which the cabin hung. “ Be careful, ” said 
Rand, taking the now unresisting hand of the 
“ Marysville Pet ” as they descended : “ a step 
that way, and down you go two thousand 
feet on the top of a pine-tree.” 

But the girl’s slight cry of alarm was pres- 
ently changed to one of unaffected pleasure 
as they stood on the rocky platform. ‘‘It 
isn’t a house : it’s a nest , and the loveliest ! ” 
said Euphemia breathlessly. 

“It’s a scene, a perfect scene, sir!” said 
Sol, enraptured. “ I shall take the liberty of 
bringing my scene-painter to sketch it some 
day. It would do for ‘ The Mountaineer’s 
Bride’ superbly, or, “continued the little 
man, warming through the blue-black border 
of liis face with professional enthusiasm, “ it’s 
enough to make a play itself. ‘ The Cot on 
the Crags.’ Last scene — moonlight — the 
struggle on the ledge ! The Lady of the 
Crags throws herself from the beetling heights ! 
— A shriek from the depths — a woman’s 
wail ! ” 


38 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


“Dry up!” sharply interrupted Rand, to 
whom this speech recalled his brother’s half- 
forgotten strangeness. “ Look at the pros- 
pect.” 

In the full noon of a cloudless day, beneath 
them a tumultuous sea of pines surged, heaved, 
rode in giant crests, stretched and lost itself 
in the ghostty, snow-peaked horizon. The 
thronging woods choked every defile, swept 
every crest, filled every valley with its dark- 
green tilting spears, and left only Table 
Mountain sunlit and bare. Here and there 
were profound olive depths, over which the 
gray hawk hung lazily, and into which blue 
jays dipped. A faint, dull } T ellowish streak 
marked an occasional watercourse ; a deeper 
reddish ribbon, the mountain road and its 
overhanging murky cloud of dust. 

“Is it quite safe here?” asked Mrs. 
Sol, eying the little cabin. “I mean from 
storms?” 

“It never blows up here,” replied Rand, 
“ and nothing happens.” 

“ It must be lovely,” said Euphemia, clasp- 
ing her hands. 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


39 


“It is that,” said Rand proudty. “ It’s 
four years since Ruth and I took up this yer 
claim, and raised this shanty. In that four 
years we haven’t left it alone a night, or cared 
to. It’s only big enough for two, and them 
two must be brothers. It wouldn’t do for 
mere pardners to live here alone, — they 
couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be exactly the 
thing for man and wife to shut themselves up 
here alone. But Ruth and me know each 
other’s ways, and here we’ll stay until we’ve 
made a pile. We sometimes — one of us — 
takes a pasear to the Ferry to buy provisions ; 
but we’re glad to crawl up to the back of old 
i Table ’ at night.” 

“ You’re quite out of the world here, then? ” 
suggested Mrs. Sol. 

“ That’s it, just it ! We’re out of the world, 
— out of rows, out of liquor, out of cards, 
out of bad company, out of temptation. Cuss- 
edness and foolishness hez got to follow us 
up here to find us, and there’s too many ready 
to climb down to them things to tempt ’em to 
come up to us.” 

There was a little boyish conceit in his tone, 


40 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

as he stood there, not altogether unbecoming 
his fresh color and simplicity. Yet, when his 
eyes met those of Miss Euphemia, he colored, 
he hardly knew why, and the young lady her- 
self blushed rosily. 

When the neat cabin, with its decorated 
walls, and squirrel and wild-cat skins, was 
duly admired, the luncheon-basket of the Saun- 
ders party was re-enforced by provisions from 
Rand’s larder, and spread upon the ledge ; 
the dimensions of the cabin not admitting 
four. Under the potent influence of a bottle, 
Sol became hilarious and professional. The 
“ Pet ” was induced to favor the compan}' with 
a recitation, and, under the plea of teaching 
Rand, to perform the clog-dance with both 
gentlemen. Then there was an interval, in 
which Rand and Euphemia wandered a little 
way down the mountain-side to gather laurel, 
leaving Mr. Sol to his siesta on a rock, and 
Mrs. Sol to take some knitting from the basket, 
and sit beside him. 

When Rand and his companion had disap- 
peared, Mrs. Sol nudged her sleeping partner. 
“ Do you think that was the brother? ” 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


41 


Sol yawned. “ Sure of it. They’re as 
like as two pease, in looks. 

“ Why didn’t you tell him so, then? ” 

“ Will you tell me, my dear, why you 
stopped me when I began ? ’ ’ 

“Because something was said about Ruth 
being here ; and I supposed Ruth was a woman, 
and perhaps Pinkney’s wife, and knew you’d 
be putting } r our foot in it by talking of that 
other woman. I supposed it was for fear of 
that he denied knowing you.” 

“Well, when he — this Rand — told me he 
had a twin-brother, he looked so frightened 
that I knew he knew nothing of his brother’s 
doings with that woman, and I threw him off 
the scent. He’s a good fellow, but awfully 
green, and I didn’t want to worry him with 
tales. I like him, and I think Phemie does 
too.” 

“Nonsense! He’s a conceited prig ! Did 
you hear his sermon on the world and its 
temptations ? I wonder if he thought tempta- 
tion had come up to him in the person of us 
professionals out on a picnic. I think it was 
positively rude.” 


t2 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN . 

“My dear woman, you’re always seeing 
alights and insults. I tell you he’s taken a 
shine to Phemie ; and he’s as good as four 
seats and a bouquet to that child next Wed- 
nesday evening, to say nothing of the eclat of 
getting this St. Simeon — what do you call 
him ? — Stalactites ? ’ ’ 

u Stylites,” suggested Mrs. Sol. 

“ St}*lites, off from his pillar here. I’ll 
have a paragraph in the paper, that the hermit 
crabs of Table Mountain ’ ’ — 

“ Don’t be a fool, Sol ! ” 

‘ 1 The hermit twins of Table Mountain be- 
spoke the chaste performance.” 

“ One of them being the protector of the 
well-known Mornie Nixon,” responded Mrs. 
Sol, viciously accenting the name with her 
knitting-needles. 

“ Rosy, you’re unjust. You’re prejudiced 
by the reports of the town. Mr. Pinkney’s 
interest in her may be a purely artistic one, 
although mistaken. She’ll never make a good 
variety-actress : she’s too heavy. And the 
boys don’t give her a fair show. No woman 
can make a debut in my version of 4 Somnam- 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


43 


Aula,’ and have the front row in the pit say to 
her in the sleep-walking scene, ‘ You’re out 
rather late, Mornie. Kinder forgot to put on 
your things, didn’t 3 T ou? Mother sick, I sup- 
pose, and you’re goin’ for more gin? Hurry 
along, or you’ll ketch it when ye get home.’ 
Why, 3^ou couldn’t do it 3’ourself, Ros3 t ! ” 

To which Mrs. Sol’s illogical climax was, 
that, “bad as Rutherford might be, this 
Sunday-school superintendent, Rand, was 
•worse.” 

Rand and his companion returned late, but 
in high spirits. There was an unnecessary 
effusiveness in the way in which Euphemia 
kissed Mrs: Sol, — the one woman present, 
who understood , and was to be propitiated, — 
which did not tend to increase Mrs. Sol’s good 
humor. She had her basket packed all read3 T 
for departure ; and even the earnest solicita- 
tion of Rand, that they would defer their 
going until sunset, produced no effect. 

“Mr. Rand — Mr. Pinkney, I mean — sa3 T s 
the sunsets here are so lovel3 T ,” pleaded Eu- 
phemia. 

“There is a rehearsal at seven o’ clock, and 


44 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


we have no time to lose,” said Mrs. Sol sig- 
nificantly. 

“I forgot to say,” said the 4 4 Mar3 T sville 
Pet” timidly, glancing at Mrs. Sol, “that 
Mr. Rand sa}’s he will bring his brother on 
Wednesday night, and wants four seats in 
front, so as not to be crowded.” 

Sol shook the young man’s hand warmly. 
“You’ll not regret it, sir: it’s a surprising, a 
remarkable performance.” 

“ I’d like to go a piece down the mountain 
with you,” said Rand, with evident sincerity, 
looking at Miss Euphemia ; “but Ruth isn’t 
here }’et, and we make a rule never to leave 
the place alone. I’ll show you the slide : it’s 
the quickest way to go down. If you meet 
any one who looks like me, and talks like me, 
call him 4 Ruth,’ and tell him I’m waitin’ for 
him yer.” 

Miss Phemia, the last to go, standing on the 
verge of the declivity, here remarked, with a 
dangerous smile, that, if she met an} T one who 
bore that resemblance, she might be tempted 
to keep him with her, — a playftilness that 
brought the ready color to Rand’s cheek. 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


45 


When she jtdded to this the greater audacity 
of kissing \er hand to him, the young hermit 
actually turned away in sheer embarrassment. 
When he locked around again, she was gone, 
and for the first time in his experience the 
mountain seemed barren and lonely. 

The too sympathetic reader who would 
rashly deduce l’vom this any newly awakened 
sentiment in the virgin heart of Rand would 
quite misapprehend that peculiar young man. 
That singular mixture of boyish inexperience 
and mature doubt and disbelief, which was 
partly the result of his temperament, and 
partly of his cloistered life on the mountain, 
made him regard ?iis late companions, now 
that they were gono, and his intimacy with 
them, with remorseful distrust. The mountain 
was barren and lonely, because it was no longer 
his. It had become a, part of the great world, 
which four 3 r ears ago he and his brother had 
put aside, and in which, as two self-devoted 
men, they walked alone. More than that, he 
believed he had acquired some understanding 
of the temptations that assailed his brother, 
and the poor little vanities of the “ Marysville 


46 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

Pet ” were transformed into the blandishments 
of a Circe. Rand, who would have succumbed 
to a wicked, superior woman, believed he was 
a saint in withstanding the foolish weakness 
of a simple one. 

He did not resume his work that day. He 
paced the mountain, anxiously awaiting his 
brother’s return, and eager to relate his ex- 
periences. He would go with him to the 
dramatic entertainment ; from his example 
and wisdom, Ruth should learn how easily 
temptation might be overcome. But, first of 
all, there should be the fullest exchange of 
confidences and explanations. The old rule 
should be rescinded for once, the old discus- 
sion in regard to Mornie re-opened, and Rand, 
having convinced his brother of error, would 
generous^ extend his forgiveness. 

The sun sank redly. Lingering long upon 
the ledge before their cabin, it at last slipped 
away almost imperceptibly, leaving Rand still 
wrapped in revery. Darkness, the smoke of 
distant fires in the woods, and the faint even- 
ing incense of the pines, crept slowly up ; but 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


47 


Ruth came not. The moon rose, a silver 
gleam on the farther ridge ; and Rand, be- 
coming uneasy at his brother’s prolonged ab- 
sence, resolved to break another custom, and 
leave the summit, to seek him on the trail. 
He buckled on his revolver, seized his gun, 
when a cry from the depths arrested him. He 
leaned over the ledge, and listened. Again the 
cry arose, and this time more distinctly. He 
held his breath : the blood settled around his 
heart in superstitious terror. It was the wail- 
ing voice of a woman. % 

“Ruth, Ruth! for God’s sake come and 
help me!” 

The blood flew back hotly to Rand’s cheek. 
It was Mornie’s voice. Ify leaning over the 
ledge, he could distinguish something moving 
along the almost precipitous face of the cliff, 
where an abandoned trail, long since broken 
off and disrupted by the fall of a portion of 
the ledge, stopped abruptly a hundred feet 
below him. Rand knew the trail, a danger- 
ous one always : in its present condition a sin- 
gle mis-step would be fatal. Would she make 
that mis-step ? He shook off a horrible temp- 


48 TIIE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


tation that seemed to be sealing his lips, and 
paratyzing his limbs, and almost screamed to 
her, 4 4 Drop on your face, hang on to the 
chaparral , and don’t move!” In another 
instant, with a coil of rope around his arm, 
he was dashing down the almost perpendicular 
4 4 slide . ’ ’ When he had nearly reached the level 
of the abandoned trail, he fastened one end of 
the rope to a jutting splinter of granite, and 
began to 44 lay out,” and work his way later- 
ally along the face of the mountain. Presently 
he struck the regular trail at the point from 
which the woman must have diverged. 

44 It is Rand,” she said, without lifting her 
head. 

44 It is,” replied Rand coldly. 44 Pass the 
rope under your arms, and I’ll get you back 
to the trail.” 

44 Where is Ruth?” she demanded again, 
without moving. She was trembling, but 
with excitement rather than fear. 

44 1 don’t know,” returned Rand impatient- 
ly. 44 Come! the ledge is already crumbling 
beneath our feet.” 

44 Let it crumble!” said the woman pas* 
sionately. 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


41 


Rand surveyed her with profound disgust, 
then passed the rope around her waist, and 
half lifted, half swung her from her feet. In 
a few moments she began to mechanically help 
herself, and permitted him to guide her to a 
place of safety. That reached, she sank 
down again. 

The rising moon shone full upon her face 
and figure. Through his growing indignation 
Rand was still impressed and even startled 
with the change the few last months had 
wrought upon her. In place of the silly, fan- 
ciful, half-hysterical hoyden whom he had 
known, a matured woman, strong in passion- 
ate self-will, fascinating in a kind of wild, sav- 
age beaut} r , looked up at him as if to read his 
very soul. 

“ What are you staring at? ” she said final- 
ly. “ Why don’t you help me on? ” 

4 c Where do you want to go ? ’ ’ said Rand 
quietly. 

“ Where ! Up there ! ” — she pointed sav- 
agely to the top of the mountain, — “to him! 
Where else should I go?” she said, with a 
bitter laugh. 


50 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

“ I’ve told you he wasn’t there,” said Rand 
roughly. “ He hasn’t returned.” 

“I’ll wait for him — do you hear? — wait 
for him ; stay there till he comes. If you 
won’t help me, I’ll go alone.” 

She made a step forward, but faltered, 
staggered, and was obliged to lean against the 
mountain for support. Stains of travel were 
on her dress ; lines of fatigue and pain, and 
traces of burning passionate tears, were on her 
face ; her black hair flowed from beneath her 
gaudy bonnet ; and, shamed out of his bru- 
tality^, Rand placed his strong arm round her 
waist, and half carrying, half supporting her, 
began the ascent. Her head dropped wearily 
on his shoulder ; her arm encircled his neck ; 
her hair, as if caressingly, lay across his breast 
and hands ; her grateful eyes were close to his ; 
her breath was upon his cheek : and yet his 
only consciousness was of the possibl}' ludi- 
crous figure he might present to his brother, 
should he meet him with Mornie Nixon in his 
arms. Not a word was spoken by either till 
the} r reached the summit. Relieved at finding 
his brother still absent, he turned not unkindly 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


51 


toward the helpless figure on his arm. “I 
don’t see what makes Ruth so late,” he said. 
“ He’s always here by sundown. Perhaps ” — 

“ Perhaps he knows I’m here,” said Mornie, 
with a bitter laugh. 

“ I didn’t say that,” said Rand, “ and I 
don’t think it. What I meant was, he might 
have met a party that was picnicking here to- 
day, — Sol. Saunders and wife, and Miss Eu- 
phemia ’ ’ — 

Mornie flung his arm away from her with a 
passionate gesture. 44 They here! — picnick- 
ing here ! — those people here ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Rand, unconsciously a little 
ashamed. 44 They came here accidentally.” 

Mornie ’s quick passion had subsided : she 
had sunk again wearily and helplessly on a 
rock beside him. 44 1 suppose,” she said, with 
a weak laugh — 44 1 suppose, they talked of 
me. I suppose they told }’ou how, with their 
lies and fair promises, they tricked me out, 
and set me before an audience of brutesS and 
laughing hyenas to make merry over. Did 
they tell you of the insults that I received ? — 
how the sins of my parents were flung at me 


52 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


instead of bouquets ? Did they tell you they 
could have spared me this, but they wanted 
the few extra dollars taken in at the door? 
No! ” 

“ They said nothing of the kind,” replied 
Rand surlily. 

“ Then you must have stopped them. You 
were horrified enough to know that I had dared 
to take the only honest way left me to make 
a living. I know you, Randolph Pinkney ! 
You’d rather see Joaquin Muriatta, the Mexi- 
can bandit, standing before you to-night with 
a revolver, than the helpless, shamed, misera- 
ble Mornie Nixon. And }T>u can’t help your- 
self, unless you throw me over the cliff. Per- 
haps you'd better,” she said, with a bitter 
laugh that faded from her lips as she leaned, 
pale and breathless, against the bowlder. 

“ Ruth will tell you ” — began Rand. 

“ D— n Ruth ! ” 

Rand turned away. 

“ Stop! ” she said suddenly, staggering to 
her feet. “ I’m sick — for all I know, dying. 
God grant that it may be so ! But, if you are 
a man, you will help me to your cabin — to 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


53 


some place where I can lie down now , and be 
at rest. I’m very, very tired.” 

She paused. She would have fallen again ; 
but Rand, seeing more in her face than her 
voice interpreted to his sullen ears, took her 
sullenly in his arms, and carried her to the 
cabin. Her eyes glanced around the bright 
party-colored walls, and a faint smile came to 
her lips as she put aside her bonnet, adorned 
with a companion pinion of the bright wings 
that covered it. 

44 Which is Ruth’s bed? ” she asked. 

Rand pointed to it. 

44 Lay me there ! ” 

Rand would have hesitated, but, with anoth- 
er look at her face, complied. 

She lay quite still a moment. Presently she 
said, 44 Give me some brandy or whiskey ! ” 

Rand was silent and confused. 

41 1 forgot,” she added half bitterly. “I 
know you have not that commonest and cheap- 
est of vices.” 

She lay quite still again. Suddenly she 
raised herself partly on her elbow, and in a 
strong, firm voice, said, 44 Rand ! ” 


54 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

“ Yes, Morale.” 

“ If 5 t ou are wise and practical, as you as* 
sume to be, you will do what I ask you with- 
out a question. If you do it at once , }’ou may 
save yourself and Ruth some trouble, some 
mortification, and perhaps some remorse and 
sorrow. Do you hear me?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Go to the nearest doctor, and bring him 
here with you.” 

“ But you! ” 

Her voice was strong, confident, steady, and 
patient. “You can safely leave me until 
then.” 

In another moment Rand was plunging 
down the “ slide.” But it was past midnight 
when he struggled over the last bowlder up 
the ascent, dragging the half-exhausted medi- 
cal wisdom of Brown’s Ferr } 7 on his arm. 

“I’ve been gone long, doctor,” said Rand 
feverishly, “ and she looked so death-like when 
I left. If we should be too late ! ’ ’ 

The doctor stopped suddenly, lifted his 
head, and pricked his ears like a hound on a 
peculiar scent. “We are too late,” he said, 
with a slight professional laugh. 


THE CLOUDS GATHER. 


55 


Indignant and horrified, Rand turned upon 
him. 

“ Listen,” said the doctor, lifting his hand. 

Rand listened, so intently that he heard the 
familiar moan of the river below ; but the 
great stony field lay silent before him. And 
then, borne across its bare barren bosom, 
like its own articulation, came faintly the fee- 
ble wail of a new-born babe. 


56 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


III. 

STORM. 

The doctor hurried ahead in the darkness. 
Rand, who had stopped paralyzed at the 
ominous sound, started forward again mechan- 
ically ; but as the cry arose again more dis- 
tinctly, and the full significance of the doctor’s 
words came to him, he faltered, stopped, and, 
with cheeks burning with shame and helpless 
indignation, sank upon a stone beside the 
shaft, and, burying his face in his hands, 
fairly gave way to a burst of boyish tears. 
Yet even then the recollection that he had 
not cried since, years ago, his mother’s dying 
hands had joined his and Ruth’s childish 
fingers together, stung him fiercely, and dried 
his tears in angry heat upon his cheeks. 

How long he sat there, he remembered not ; 
frhat he thought, he recalled not. But the 


STORM. 


57 


wildest and most extravagant plans and re- 
solves availed him nothing in the face of this 
forever desecrated home, and this shameful 
culmination of his ambitious life on the moun- 
tain. Once he thought of flight ; but the 
reflection that he would still abandon his 
brother to shame, perhaps a self-contented 
shame, checked him hopeless^. Could he 
avert the future? He must ; but how? Yet 
he could only sit and stare into the darkness 
in dumb abstraction. 

Sitting there, his eyes fell upon a peculiar 
object in a crevice of the ledge beside the 
shaft. It was the tin pail containing his 
dinner, which, according to their custom, it 
was the duty of the brother -who staid above 
ground to prepare and place for the brother 
who worked below. Ruth must, consequently, 
have put it there before he left that morning, 
and Rand had overlooked it while sharing the 
repast of the strangers at noon. At the sight 
of this dumb witness of their mutual cares 
and labors, Rand sighed, half in brotherly 
sorrow, half in a selfish sense of injury done 
him. He took up the pail mechanically, re- 


58 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


moved its cover, and — started ; for on top 
of the carefully bestowed provisions lay a 
little note, addressed to him in Ruth’s peculiar 
scrawl. 

He opened it with feverish hands, held it 
in the light of the peaceful moon, and read as 
follows : — 

Dear, dear Brother, — When you read this, I 
shall be far away. I go because I shall not stay 
to disgrace you, and because the girl that I brought 
trouble upon has gone away too, to hide her dis- 
grace and mine; and where she goes, Rand, I 
ought to follow her, and, please God, I will! I 
am not as wise or as good as you are, but it seems 
the best I can do ; and God bless you, dear old 
Randy, boy ! Times and times again I’ve wanted 
to tell you all, and reckoned to do so ; but whether 
you was sitting before me in the cabin, or working 
beside me in the drift, I couldn’t get to look upon 
your honest face, dear brother, and say what things 
I’d been keeping from you so long. I’ll stay away 
until I’ve done what I ought to do, and if you can 
say, “Come, Ruth,” I will come; but, until you can 
say it, the mountain is yours, Randy, boy, the mine is 
yours, the cabin is yours, all is yours. Rub out the 
old chalk-marks, Rand, as I rub them out here in 
my — [A few words here were blurred and indistinct, 
as if the moon had suddenly become dim-eyed too]. 
God bless you, brother ! 


STORM. 


59 


P.S. — You know I mean Mornie all the time. 
It’s she I’m going to seek ; but don’t you think so bad 
of her as you do, I am so much worse than she. I 
wanted to tell you that all along, but I didn’t dare. 
She’s run away from the Ferry half crazy; said she 
was going to Sacramento, and I am going there to 
find her alive or dead. Forgive me, brother! Don’t 
throw this down right away; hold it in your hand a 
moment, Randy, boy, and try hard to think it’s my 
hand in yours. And so good-by, and God bless you, 
old Randy! 

From your loving brother, 

Ruth. 


A deep sense of relief overpowered every 
other feeling in Rand’s breast. It was clear 
that Ruth had not yet discovered the truth of 
Mornie’s flight : he was on his way to Sacra- 
mento, and, before he could return, Mornie 
could be removed. Once despatched in some 
other direction, with Rand once more returned 
and under his brother’s guidance, the sepa- 
ration could be made easy and final. There 
was evident^ no marriage as yet ; and now, 
the fear of an immediate meeting over, there 
should be none. For Rand had already 
feared this ; had recalled the few infelicitous 


60 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

relations, legal and illegal, which were com- 
mon to the adjoining camp, — the flagrantly 
miserable life of the husband of a San Fran- 
cisco anonyma who lived in style at the Fer- 
ry, the shameful carousals and more shame- 
ful quarrels of the Frenchman and Mexican 
woman who “kept house” at “the Cross- 
ing,” the awful spectacle of the three half- 
bred Indian children who played before the 
cabin of a fellow miner and townsman. Thank 
Heaven, the Eagle’s Nest on Table Mountain 
should never be pointed at from the valley as 
another — 

A heavy hand upon his arm brought him 
trembling to his feet. He turned, and met the 
half-anxious, half-contemptuous glance of the 
doctor. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said dryly ; 
“but it’s about time you or somebody else 
put in an appearance at that cabin. Luckily 
for her , she’s one woman in a thousand ; has 
had her wits about her better than some folks 
I know, and has left me little to do but make 
her comfortable. But she’s gone through too 
much, — fought her little fight too gallantly,—. 


STORM. 


61 


is altogether too much of a trump to be played 
off upon now. So rise up out of that, young 
man, pick up your scattered faculties, and 
fetch a woman — some sensible creature of her 
own sex — to look after her ; for, without 

wishing to be personal, I’m d d if I trust 

her to the likes of you.” 

There was no mistaking Dr. Duchesne’s 
voice and manner ; and Rand was affected by 
it, as most people were throughout the valley 
of the Stanislaus. But he turned upon him 
his frank and boyish face, and said simply, 
“ But I don’t know any woman, or where to 
get one.” 

The doctor looked at him again. “Well, 
I’ll find you some one,” he said, softening. 

“ Thank you ! ” said Rand. 

The doctor was disappearing. With an 
effort Rand recalled him. “One moment, 
doctor.” He hesitated, and his cheeks were 
glowing. “You’ll please say nothing about 
this down there” — he pointed to the valley 
— “ for a time. And you’ll say to the woman 
you send ’ ’ — 

Dr. Duchesne, whose resolute lips were 


62 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

sealed upon the secrets of half Tuolumne 
County, interrupted him scornfully. “ I can- 
not answer for the woman — } T ou must talk to 
her yourself. As for me, generally I keep my 
professional visits to n^self ; but ” — he laid 
his hand on Rand’s arm — “ if I find out you’re 
putting on any airs to that poor creature, if, on 
m} r next visit, her lips or her pulse tell me } T ou 
haven’t been acting on the square to her, I’ll 
drop a hint to druken old Nixon where his 
daughter is hidden. I reckon she could stand 
his brutality better than yours. Good-night ! ” 
In another moment he was gone. Rand, 
who had held back his quick tongue, feeling 
himself in the power of this man, once more 
alone, sank on a rock, and buried his face in 
his hands. Recalling himself in a moment, 
he rose, wiped his hot eyelids, and staggered 
toward the cabin. It was quite still now. He 
paused on the topmost step, and listened : there 
was no sound from the ledge, or the Eagle’s 
Nest that clung to it. Half timidly he de- 
scended the winding steps, and paused before 
the door of the cabin. “ Mornie,” he said, 
in a dry, metallic voice, whose only indication 


STORM. 


63 


of the presence of sickness was in the lowness 
of its pitch, — “ Mornie ! ” There was no re- 
ply. “ Mornie,” he repeated impatiently, 
“it’s me, — Rand. If you want any thing, 
you’re to call me. I am just outside.” Still 
no answer came from the silent cabin. He 
pushed open the door gently, hesitated, and 
stepped over the threshold. 

A change in the interior of the cabin within 
the last few hours showed a new presence. 
The guns, shovels, picks, and blankets had 
disappeared ; the two chairs were drawn against 
the wall, the table placed by the bedside. The 
swinging-lantern was shaded towards the bed, 
— the object of Rand’s attention. On that 
bed, his brother’s bed, lay a helpless woman, 
pale from the long black hair that matted her 
damp forehead, and clung to her hollow cheeks. 
Her face was turned to the wall, so that the 
softened light fell upon her profile, which to 
Rand at that moment seemed even noble and 
strong. But the next moment his eye fell 
upon the shoulder and arm that lay nearest to 
him, and the little bundle, swathed in flannel, 
that it clasped to her breast. His brow grew 


64 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

dark as he gazed. The sleeping woman 
moved. Perhaps it was an instinctive con- 
sciousness of his presence ; perhaps it was 
only the current of cold air from the opened 
door : but she shuddered slightly, and, still 
unconscious, drew the child as if away from 
him , and nearer to her breast. The shamed 
blood rushed to Rand’s face ; and saying half 
aloud, “ I’m not going to take your precious 
babe away from you,” he turned in half-bo} T ish 
pettishness away. Nevertheless he came back 
again shortly to the bedside, and gazed upon 
them both. She certainly did look altogether 
more ladylike, and less aggressive, lying there 
so still : sickness, that cheap refining process 
of some natures, was not unbecoming to her. 
But this bundle ! A boyish curiosity, stronger 
than even his strong objection to the whole 
episode, was steadily impelling him to lift the 
blanket from it. “I suppose she’d waken if 
I did,” said Rand; “but I’d like to know 
what right the doctor had to wrap it up in my 
best flannel shirt.” This fresh grievance, the 
fruit of his curiosity, sent him away again to 
meditate on the ledge. After a few moments 


STORM. 


65 


he returned again, opened the cupboard at the 
foot of the bed softly, took thence a piece of 
chalk, and scrawled in large letters upon the 
door of the cupboard, “ If you want any thing, 
sing out: I’m just outside. — Rand.” This 
done, he took a blanket and bear-skin from 
the corner, and walked to the door. But here 
he paused, looked back at the inscription (evi- 
dently not satisfied with it), returned, took up 
the chalk, added a line, but rubbed it out 
again, repeated this operation a few times until 
he produced the polite postcript, — “Hope 
you’ll be better soon.” Then he retreated to 
the ledge, spread the bear-skin beside the 
door, and, rolling himself in a blanket, lit his 
pipe for his night-long vigil. But Rand, 
although a martyr, a philosopher, and a moral- 
ist, was young. In less than ten minutes the 
pipe dropped from his lips, and he was asleep. 

He awoke with a strange sense of heat and 
suffocation, and with difficulty shook off his 
covering. Rubbing his eyes, he discovered 
that an extra blanket had in some mysterious 
way been added in the night ; and beneath his 


66 THE TWIN’S OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


head was a pillow he had no recollection of 
placing there when he went to sleep. By 
degrees the events of the past night forced 
themselves upon his benumbed faculties, and 
he sat up. The sun was riding high ; the door 
of the cabin was open. Stretching himself, he 
staggered to his feet, and looked in through 
the yawning crack at the hinges. He rubbed 
his eyes again. Was he still asleep, and fol- 
lowed by a dream of yesterday? For there, 
even in the very attitude he remembered to 
have seen her sitting at her luncheon on the 
previous day, with her knitting on her lap, sat 
Mrs. Sol Saunders! What did it mean? or 
had she really been sitting there ever since, 
and all the events that followed only a dream ? 

A hand was laid upon his arm ; and, turning, 
he saw the murky black eyes and Indian-inked 
beard of Sol beside him. That gentleman put 
his finger on his lips with a theatrical gesture, 
and then, slowly retreating in the well-known 
manner of the buried Majesty of Denmark, 
waved him, like another Hamlet, to a remoter 
part of the ledge. This reached, he grasped 
Rand warmly by the hand, shook it heartily, 
and said, “It’s all right, m} r boy ; all right ! ,l 


STORM. 


67 


“But” — began Rand. The hot blood 
flowed to his cheeks: he stammered, and 
stopped short. 

“It’s all right, 1 say! Don’t you mind! 
We’ll pull j^ou through.” 

“ But, Mrs. Sol ! what does she ” — 

“ Rosey has taken the matter in hand, sir ; 
and when that woman takes a matter in hand, 
whether it’s a baby or a rehearsal, sir, she 
makes it buzz.” 

“But how did she know?” stammered 
Rand. 

“ How? Well, sir, the scene opened some- 
thing like this,” said Sol professionally. 
“ Curtain rises on me and Mrs. Sol. Domes- 
tic interior: practicable chairs, table, books, 
newspapers. Enter Dr. Duchesne, — eccentric 
character part, very popular with the boys, — 
tells off-hand affecting story of strange woman 
— one ‘ more unfortunate ’ — having baby in 
Eagle’s Nest, lonely place on ‘ peaks of Snow- 
don,’ midnight ; eagles screaming, you know, 
and far down unfathomable depths ; only at- 
tendant, cold-blooded ruffian, evidently father 
of child, with sinister designs on child and 
mother.” 


68 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

“He didn’t say that!” said Rand, with an 
agonized smile. 

“Order! Sit down in front!” continued 
Sol easily. “Mrs. Sol — highly interested, 
a mother herself — demands name of place. 
4 Table Mountain.’ No ; it cannot be — it is ! 
Excitement. M}^stery ! Rosey rises to occa- 
sion — comes to front : 4 Some one must go ; 
I — I — will go myself ! * Myself, coming to 
centre : 4 Not alone, dearest ; I — I will accom- 
pany you ! ’ A shriek at right upper centre. 
Enter the 4 Marysville Pet.’ 4 1 have heard 
all. ’Tis a base calumn}'. It cannot be he — 
Randolph ! Never ! ’ — 4 Dare you accompany 
us ? ’ — 4 1 will ! ’ Tableau. 

44 Is Miss Euphemia — here ? ” gasped Rand, 
practical even in his embarrassment. 

“Or-r-rder! Scene second. Summit of 
mountain — moonlight. Peaks of Snowdon 
in distance. Right — lonely cabin. Enter 
slowly up defile, Sol, Mrs. Sol, the 4 Pet.’ 
Advance slowly to cabin. Suppressed shriek 
from the 4 Pet,’ who rushes to recumbent figure 
— Left — discovered lying beside cabin-door. 
6 ’Tis he ! Hist ! he sleeps ! ’ Throws blanket 


STORM. 


69 


over him, and retires up stage — so.” Here 
Sol achieved a vile imitation of the 44 Pet’s ’* 
most enchanting stage-manner. 44 Mrs. Sol ad- 
vances — Centre — throws open door. Shriek ! 
6 ’Tis Mornie, the lost found ! ’ The 4 Pet ’ 
advances : 4 And the father is ? ’ — 4 Not 

Rand ! ’ The 4 Pet ’ kneeling : 4 Just Heaven, 
I thank thee I ’ 4 No, it is ’ ” — 

44 Hush ! ” said Rand appealingly, looking 
toward the cabin. 

44 Hush it is ! ” said the actor good-natured- 
ly. 44 But it’s all right, Mr. Rand : we’ll pull 
you through.” 

Later in the morning, Rand learned that 
Mornie ’s ill-fated connection with the Star 
Variety Troup had been a source of anxiety 
to Mrs. Sol, and she had reproached herself 
for the girl’s infelicitous debut . 

44 But, Lord bless you, Mr. Rand ! ” said Sol, 
44 it was all in the way of business. She came 
to us — was fresh and new. Her chance, look- 
ing at it professionally, was as good as any 
amateur’s ; but what with her relations here, 
and her bein’ known, she didn’t take. We 
lost money on her ! It’s natural she should 


70 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


feel a little ugly. We all do when we get 
sorter kicked back onto ourselves, and find we 
can’t stand alone. Why, you wouldn’t believe 
it,” he continued, with a moist twinkle of his 
black eyes ; ‘ 1 but the night I lost my little 
Rosey, of diphtheria in Gold Hill, the child 
was down on the bills for a comic song ; and I 
had to drag Mrs. Sol on, cut up as she was, 
and filled up with that much of Old Bourbon 
to keep her nerves stiff*, so she could do an old 
gag with me to gain time, and make up the 
4 variety/ Why, sir, when I came to the front, 
I was ugly ! And when one of the boys in 
the front row sang out, ‘ Don’t expose that 
poor child to the night air, Sol,’ — meaning 
Mrs. Sol, — I acted ugly. No, sir, it’s human 
nature ; and it was quite natural that Mornie, 
when she caught sight o’ Mrs. Sol’s face last 
night, should rise up and cuss us both. Lord, 
if she’d only acted like that ! But the old 
lady got her quiet at last; and, as I said 
before, it’s all right, and we’ll pull her through. 
But don’t you thank us : it’s a little matter 
betwixt us and Mornie. We’ve got every 
thing fixed, so that Mrs. Sol can stay right 


STORM. 


71 


along. We’ll pull Mornie through, and get 
her away from this, and her baby too, as soon 
as we can. You won’t get mad if I tell 3*011 
something?” said Sol, with a half-apologetic 
laugh. “Mrs. Sol was rather down on }*ou 
the other da}^, hated 3*ou on sight, and pre- 
ferred }*our brother to }*ou ; but when she 
found he’d run off and left you , } t ou, — don’t 
mind my sa3*in,’ — a ‘ mere bo}*,’ to take what 
oughter be his place, wlty, she just wheeled 
round agin’ him. I suppose he got flustered, 
and couldn’t face the music. Never left a 
word of explanation? Well, it wasn’t exactty 
square, though I tell the old woman it’s hu- 
man nature. He might have dropped a hint 
where he was goin’. Well, there, I won’t say 
a word more agin’ him. I know how 30U 
feel. Hush it is.” 

it was the firm conviction of the simple- 
minded Sol, that no one knew the various natu- 
ral indications of human passion better than 
himself. Perhaps it was one of the fallacies of 
his profession, that the expression of all human 
passion was limited to certain conventional 
signs and sounds. Consequent^, when Rand 


72 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

colored violently, became confused, stam- 
mered, and at last turned hastily awa}^, the 
good-hearted fellow instantly recognized the 
unfailing evidence of modesty and innocence 
embarrassed by recognition. As for Rand, I 
fear his shame was onty momentary. Con- 
firmed in the belief of his ulterior wisdom and 
virtue, his first embarrassment over, he was 
not displeased with this half-way tribute, and 
really believed that the time would come when 
Mr. Sol should eventually praise his sagacity 
and reservation, and acknowledge that he was 
something more than a mere boy. He, never- 
theless, shrank from meeting Mornie that 
morning, and was glad that the presence of 
Mrs. Sol relieved him from that duty. 

The day passed uneventfully. Rand busied 
himself in his usual avocations, and con- 
structed a temporary shelter for himself and 
Sol beside the shaft, besides rudely shaping a 
few necessary articles of furniture for Mrs. 
Sol. 

“ It will be a little spell yet afore Mornie’ s 
able to be moved,” suggested Sol, u and you 
might as well be comfortable.” 


STORM. 


73 


Rand sighed at this prospect, yet presentty 
forgot himself in the good humor of his com- 
panion, whose admiration for himself he began 
to patronizingly admit. There was no sense of 
degradation in accepting the friendship of this 
man who had travelled so far, seen so much, 
and yet, as a practical man of the world, Rand 
felt was so inferior to himself. The absence of 
Miss Euphemia, who had early left the moun- 
tain, was a source of odd, half-definite relief. 
Indeed, when he closed his e} T es to rest that 
night, it was with a sense that the reality of 
his situation was not as bad as he had feared. 
Once only, the figure of his brother — haggard, 
weary, and footsore, on his hopeless quest, 
wandering in lonely trails and lonelier settle- 
ments — came across his fancy ; but with it 
came the greater fear of his return, and the 
pathetic figure was banished. “ And, besides, 
he’s in Sacramento by this time, and like as 
not forgotten us all,” he muttered ; and, twin- 
ing this poppy and mandragora around his 
pillow, he fell asleep. 

His spirits had quite returned the next 
toorning, and once or twice he found himself 


74 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


singing while at work in the shaft. The fear 
that Ruth might return to the mountain before 
he could get rid of Mornie, and the slight anx- 
iety that had grown upon him to know some- 
thing of his brother’s movements, and to be 
able to govern them as he wished, caused him 
to hit upon the plan of constructing an ingen- 
ious advertisement to be published in the San 
Francisco journals, wherein the missing Ruth 
should be advised that news of his quest should 
be communicated to him by “a friend,’’ 
through the same medium, after an interval 
of two weeks. Full of this amiable intention, 
he returned to the surface to dinner. Here, 
to his momentary confusion, he met Miss 
Euphemia, who, in absence of Sol, was assist- 
ing Mrs. Sol in the details of the household. 

If the honest frankness with which that 
young lad} r greeted him was not enough to 
relieve his embarrassment, he would have 
forgotten it in the utterly new and changed 
aspect she presented. Her extravagant walk- 
ing-costume of the previous day was replaced 
by some bright calico, a little white apron, and 
a broad-brimmed straw-hat, which seemed to 


STORM : 


75 


Rand, in some odd fashion, to restore her ori- 
ginal girlish simplicity. The change was cer- 
tainly not unbecoming to her. If her waist was 
not as tightly pinched, a la mode , there still 
was an honest, youthful plumpness about it ; 
her step was freer for the absence of her high- 
heel boots ; and even the hand she extended 
to Rand, if not quite so small as in her tight 
gloves, and a little brown from exposure, was 
magnetic in its strong, kindly grasp. There 
was perhaps a slight suggestion of the practi- 
cal Mr. Sol in her wholesome presence ; and 
Rand could not help wondering if Mrs. Sol 
had ever been a Gold Hill “ Pet ” before her 
marriage with Mr. Sol. The young girl no- 
ticed his curious glance. 

“You never saw me in my rehearsal dress 
before,” she said, with a laugh. “ But I’m not 
4 company ’ to-day, and didn’t put on my best 
harness to knock round in. I suppose I look 
dreadful.” 

“I don’t think you look bad,” said Rand 
simply. 

“ Thank 3’ou,” said Euphemia, with a laugh 
and a courtesy. “But this isn’t getting the 
dinner.” 


76 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

As part of that operation evidently was the 
taking-off of her hat, the putting-up of some 
thick blonde locks that had escaped, and the 
rolling-up of her sleeves over a pair of strong, 
rounded arms, Rand lingered near her. All 
trace of the “ Pet’s ” previous professional 
coquetry was gone, — perhaps it was only re- 
placed by a more natural one ; but as she 
looked up, and caught sight of Rand’s inter- 
ested face, she laughed again, and colored a 
little. Slight as was the blush, it was suffi- 
cient to kindle a sympathetic fire in Rand’s 
own cheeks, which was so utterly unexpected 
to him that he turned on his heel in confusion. 
“ I reckon she thinks I’m soft and silly, like 
Ruth,” he soliloquized, and, determining not 
to look at her again, betook himself to a dis- 
tant and contemplative pipe. In vain did 
Miss Euphemia address herself to the ostenta- 
tious getting of the dinner in full view of him ; 
in vain did she bring the coffee-pot away from 
the fire, and nearer Rand, with the apparent 
intention of examining its contents in a better 
light ; in vain, while wiping a plate, did she, 
absorbed in the distant prospect, walk to the 


STORM. 


77 


verge of the mountain, and become statuesque 
and forgetful. The sulky young gentleman 
took no outward notice of her. 

Mrs. Sol’s attendance upon Mornie pre- 
vented her leaving the cabin, and Rand and 
Miss Euphemia dined in the open air alone. 
The ridiculousness of keeping up a formal 
attitude to his solitary companion caused Rand 
to relax ; but, to his astonishment, the u Pet ” 
seemed to have become correspondingly dis- 
tant and formal. After a few moments of dis- 
comfort, Rand, who had eaten little, arose, 
and “ believed he would go back to work.” 

“ Ah, yes ! ” said the Pet, with an indiffer- 
ent air, “ I suppose you must. Well, good-by, 
Mr. Pinkney.” 

Rand turned. “ You are not going?” he 
asked, in some uneasiness. 

“ Tve got some work to do too,” returned 
Miss Euphemia a little curtly. 

“ But,” said the practical Rand, “ I thought 
you allowed that you were fixed to stay until 
to-morrow? ” 

But here Miss Euphemia, with rising color 
and slight acerbity of voice, was not aware 


78 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

that she was “ fixed to stay ” anywhere, least 
of all when she was in the way. More than 
that, she must say — although perhaps it made 
no difference, and she ought not to say it — 
that she was not in the habit of intruding upon 
gentlemen who plainly gave her to understand 
that her company was not desirable. She did 
not know why she said this — of course it 
could make no difference to anybody who 
didn’t, of course, care — but she only wanted 
to say that she only came here because her 
dear friend, her adopted mother, — and a better 
woman never breathed, — had come, and had 
asked her to stay. Of course, Mrs. Sol was 
an intruder herself — Mr. Sol was an intruder 
— they were all intruders : she only wondered 
that Mr. Pinkney had borne with them so long. 
She knew it was an awful thing to be here, 
taking care of a poor — poor, helpless woman ; 
but perhaps Mr. Rand’s brother might forgive 
them, if he couldn’t. But no matter, she 
would go — Mr. Sol would go — all would go ; 
and then, perhaps, Mr. Rand ” — 

She stopped breathless ; she stopped with 
the corner of her apron against her tearful 


STORM. 


79 


hazel e} T es ; she stopped with — what was more 
remarkable than all — Rand’s arm actually 
around her waist, and his astonished, alarmed 
face within a few inches of her own. 

“ Why, Miss Euphemia, Phemie, my dear 
girl! I never meant any thing like that,” 
said Rand earnestly. “I really didn’t now! 
Come now ! ’ ’ 

“ You never once spoke to me when I sat 
down,” said Miss Euphemia, feebly endeavor- 
ing to withdraw from Rand’s grasp. 

“I really didn’t! Oh, come now, look 
here! I didn’t! Don’t! There’s a dear — 
there ! ’ ’ 

This last conclusive exposition was a kiss. 
Miss Euphemia was not quick enough to re- 
lease herself from his arms. He anticipated 
that act a full half-second, and had dropped 
his own, pale and breathless. 

The girl recovered herself first. “ There, 1 
declare, I’m forgetting Mrs. Sol’s coffee!” 
she exclaimed hastily, and, snatching up the 
coffee-pot, disappeared. When she returned, 
Rand was gone. Miss Euphemia busied her- 
self demurely in clearing up the dishes, with 


80 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


the tail of her eye sweeping the horizon of the 
summit level around her. But no Rand ap- 
peared. Presently she began to laugh quietly 
to herself. This occurred several times during 
her occupation, which was somewhat pro- 
longed. The result of this meditative hilarity 
was summed up in a somewhat grave and 
thoughtful deduction as she walked slowly 
back to the cabin : “I do believe I'm the first 
woman that that boy ever kissed.” 

Miss Euphemia staid that day and the next, 
and Rand forgot his embarrassment. By what 
means I know not, Miss Euphemia managed 
to restore Rand’s confidence in himself and 
in her, and in a little ramble on the mountain- 
side got him to relate, albeit somewhat reluc- 
tantly, the particulars of his rescue of Mornie 
from her dangerous position on the broken 
trail. 

“And, if you hadn’t got there as soon as 
you did, she’d have fallen? ” asked the “ Pet.” 

“I reckon,” returned Rand gloomily: 
w she was sorter dazed and crazed like.” 

“ And 3’ou saved her life? ” 

‘ I suppose so, if you put it that wa}',” 
Baid Rand sulkily. 


STORM. 


81 


“ But how did you get her up the mountain 
again ? ’ * 

“ Oh ! I got her up,” returned Rand mood- 

i'y- 

“ But how? Really, Mr. Rand, 3^011 don’t 
know how interesting this is. It’s as good as 
a play,” said the “ Pet,” with a little excited 
laugh. 

“Oh, I carried her up ! ” 

“ In 3’our arms? ” 

“ Y-e-e-s.” 

Miss Euphemia paused, and bit off the 
stalk of a flower, made a wry face, and threw 
it away from her in disgust. 

Then she dug a few tin3' holes in the earth 
with her parasol, and buried bits of the flower- 
stalk in them, as if they had been tender 
memories. “I suppose 30U knew Mornie 
vmy well? ” she asked. 

“I used to run across her in the woods,” 
responded Rand shortly, “ a year ago. I 
didn’t know her so well then as” — He 
stopped. 

“ As what? As now 9 ” asked the “ Pet ” 
abruptly. Rand, who was coloring over his 


82 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

narrow escape from a topic which a delicate 
kindness of Sol had excluded from their inter- 
course on the mountain, stammered, 44 as you 
do, I meant.” 

The 44 Pet ” tossed her head a little, 44 Oh ! 
I don’t know her at all — except through Sol.” 

Rand stared hard at this. The u Pet,” who 
was looking at him intent!}", said, 44 Show me 
the place where you saw Mornie clinging that 
night.” 

44 It’s dangerous,” suggested Rand. 

44 You mean I’d be afraid! Try me! I 
don’t believe she was so dreadfully fright- 
ened!” 

44 Why? ” asked Rand, in astonishment. 

4 4 Oh — because ’ ’ — 

Rand sat down in vague wonderment. 

44 Show it to me,” continued the 44 Pet,” 
44 or — I’ll find it alone ! ” 

Thus challenged, he rose, and, after a few 
moments’ climbing, stood with her upon the 
trail. 44 You see that thorn-bush where the 
rock has fallen away. It was just there. It 
is not safe to go farther. No, really ! Miss 
Euphemia! Please don’t! It’s almost cer- 
tain death ! ” 


STORM. 


83 


But the giddy girl had darted past him, and, 
face to the wall of the cliff, was creeping 
along the dangerous path. Rand followed 
mechanically. Once or twice the trail crum- 
bled beneath her feet ; but she clung to a pro- 
jecting root of chaparral , and laughed. She 
had almost reached her elected goal, when, 
slipping, the treacherous chaparral she clung 
to yielded in her grasp, and Rand, with a 
cry, sprung forward. But the next instant 
she quickly transferred her hold to a cleft in 
the cliff, and was safe. Not so her compan- 
ion. The soil beneath him, loosened by the 
impulse of his spring, slipped away : he was 
falling with it, when she caught him sharply 
with her disengaged hand, and together they 
scrambled to a more secure footing. 

“ I could have reached it alone/ ’ said the 
“ Pet,” “ if you’d left me alone.” 

“ Thank Heaven, we’re saved ! ” said Rand 
gravely. 

“ And without a rope” said Miss Euphemia 
significantly. 

Rand did not understand her. But, as they 
slowly returned to the summit, he stammered 


84 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


out the always difficult thanks of a man who 
has been physically helped by one of the 
weaker sex. Miss Euphemia was quick to 
see her error. 

4 4 1 might have made you lose your footing 
by catching at you,” she said meekly. 44 But 
I was so frightened for you, and could not help 
it.” 

The superior animal, thoroughly bam- 
boozled, thereupon complimented her on her 
dexterity. 

44 Oh, that’s nothing!” she said, with a 
sigh. 44 1 used to do the flying-trapeze busi- 
ness with papa when I was a child, and I’ve 
not forgotten it.” With this and other confi- 
dences of her earl}’ life, in which Rand be- 
trayed considerable interest, they beguiled the 
tedious ascent. 44 I ought to have made you 
cany me up,” said the lad}’, with a little 
laugh, when they reached the summit; “but 
you haven’t known me as long as you have 
Mornie, have you?” With this mysterious 
speech she bade Rand 44 good- night,” and hur- 
ried off to the cabin. 

And so a week passed by, — the week so 


STORM. 


85 


dreaded by Rand, yet passed so pleasantty, 
that at times it seemed as if that dread were 
only a trick of his fancy, or as if the circum- 
stances that surrounded him were different 
from what he believed them to be. On the 
seventh day the doctor had staid longer than 
usual ; and Rand, who had been sitting with 
Euphemia on the ledge by the shaft, watching 
the sunset, had barely time to withdraw his 
hand from hers, as Mrs. Sol, a trifle pale and 
wearied-looking, approached him. 

“I don’t like to trouble you,” she said, — 
indeed, they had seldom troubled him with the 
details of Mornie’s convalescence, or even her 
needs and requirements, — “ but the doctor is 
alarmed about Mornie, and she has asked to 
see you. I think 3’ou’d better go in and 
speak to her. You know,” continued Mrs. 
Sol delicately, “you haven’t been in there 
since the night she was taken sick, and maybe 
a new face might do her good.” 

The guilty blood flew to Rand’s face as he 
stammered, “ I thought I’d be in the way. 
I didn’t believe she cared much to see me. Is 
she worse ? ” 


86 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


“ The doctor is looking very anxious,” said 
Mrs. Sol simply. 

The blood returned from Rand’s face, and 
settled around his heart. He turned very 
pale. He had consoled himself always for his 
complicity in Ruth’s absence, that he was 
taking good care of Mornie, or — what is 
considered by most selfish natures an equiva- 
lent — permitting or encouraging some one 
else to “take good care of her;” but here 
was a contingency utterly unforeseen. It did 
not occur to him that this “ taking good care ” 
of her could result in any thing but a perfect 
solution of her troubles, or that there could 
be any future to her condition but one of 
recovery. But what if she should die? A 
sudden and helpless sense of his responsibility 
to Ruth, to /ier, brought him trembling to 
his feet. 

He hurried to the cabin, where Mrs. Sol 
left him with a word of caution: “You’ll 
find her changed and quiet, — very quiet. If 
I was you, I wouldn’t say any thing to bring 
back her old self.” 

The change which Rand saw was so great, 


STORM. 


87 


the face that was turned to him so quiet, that, 
with a new fear upon him, he would have 
preferred the savage eyes and reckless mien 
of the old Mornie whom he hated. With his 
habitual impulsiveness he tried to say some- 
thing that should express that fact not un- 
kindly, but faltered, and awkwardly sank into 
the chair by her bedside. 

“ I don’t wonder you stare at me now,” she 
said in a far-off voice. “It seems to you 
strange to see me lying here so quiet. You 
are thinking how wild I was when I came 
here that night. I must have been crazy, I 
think. I dreamed that I said dreadful things 
to you ; but you must forgive me, and not 
mind it. I was crazy then.” She stopped, 
and folded the blanket between her thin 
fingers. “ I didn’t ask you to come here to 
tell you that, or to remind you of it ; but — 
but when I was crazy, I said so man} 7 worse, 
dreadful things of him; and you — you will 
be left behind to tell him of it.” 

Rand was vaguely murmuring something to 
the effect that “ he knew she didn’t mean any 
tiling,” that “ she mustn’t think of it again,” 


88 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


that “ he’d forgotten all about it,” when she 
stopped him with a tired gesture. 

“ Perhaps I was wrong to think, that, after 
I am gone, you would care to tell him any 
thing. Perhaps I’m wrong to think of it at 
all, or to care what he will think of me, except 
for the sake of the child — his child, Rand — 
that I must leave behind me. He will know 
that it never abused him. No, God bless its 
sweet heart ! it never was wild and wicked 
and hateful, like its cruel, crazy mother. 
And he will love it ; and you, perhaps, will 
love it too — just a little, Rand! Look at 
it!” She tried to raise the helpless bundle 
beside her in her arms, but failed. “You 
must lean over,” she said faintly to Rand. 
“ It looks like him, doesn’t it? ” 

Rand, with wondering, embarrassed eyes, 
tried to see some resemblance, in the little 
blue-red oval, to the sad, wistful face of his 
brother, which even then was haunting him 
from some mysterious distance. He kissed 
the child’s forehead, but even then so vaguely 
and perfunctorily, that the mother sighed, and 
drew it closer to her breast. 


STORM. 


89 


“The doctor says,” she continued in a 
calmer voice, “ that I’m not doing as well as 
I ought to. I don’t think,” she faltered, with 
something of her old bitter laugh, “that I’m 
ever doing as well as I ought to, and perhaps 
it’s not strange now that I don’t. And he 
says, that, in case any thing happens to me, 
I ought to look ahead. I have looked ahead. 
It’s a dark look ahead, Rand — a horror of 
blackness, without kind faces, without the 
baby, without — without him! ” 

She turned her face away, and laid it on 
the bundle b} T her side. It was so quiet in the 
cabin, that, through the open door beyond, the 
faint, rhythmical moan of the pines below was 
distinctly heard. 

“I know it’s foolish; but that is what 
‘looking ahead’ alwa} T s meant to me,”, she 
said, with a sigh. “But, since the doctor 
has been gone, I’ve talked to Mijs. Sol, and 
find it’s for the best. And I look ahead, and 
see more clearly. I look ahead, and see my 
disgrace removed far away from him and you. 
I look ahead, and see j-ou and he living to- 
gether happily, as you did before I came 


90 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


between you. I look ahead, and see my past 
life forgotten, my faults forgiven ; and I think 
I see you both loving my baby, and perhaps 
loving me a little for its sake. Thank you, 
Rand, thank you ! ” 

For Rand’s hand had caught hers beside 
the pillow, and he was standing over her, 
whiter than she. Something in the pressure 
of his hand emboldened her to go on, and 
even lent a certain strength to her voice. 

“When it comes to that , Rand, you’ll not 
let these people take the baby away. You’ll 
keep it here with you until he comes. And 
something tells me that he will come when I 
am gone. You’ll keep it here in the pure air 
and sunlight of the mountain, and out of those 
wicked depths below ; and when I am gone, 
and they are gone, and only }’ou and Ruth and 
baby are here, maybe you’ll think that it came 
to you in a cloud on the mountain, — a cloud 
that lingered only long enough to drop its bur- 
den, and faded, leaving the sunlight and dew 
behind. What is it, Rand? What are you 
looking at? ” 

“ I was thinking,” said Rand in a strange, 


STORM. 


91 


altered voice, “ that I must trouble you to let 
me take down those duds and furbelows that 
hang on the wall, so that I can get at some 
traps of mine behind them.” He took some 
articles from the wall, replaced the dresses of 
Mrs. Sol, and answered Morale’s look of in- 
quiry. 

“ I was only getting at my purse and my 
revolver,” he said, showing them. “ I’ve got 
to get some stores at the Ferry by daylight. ’ ’ 

Mornie sighed. “ I’m giving you great 
trouble, Rand, I know ; but it won’t be for 
long.” 

He muttered something, took her hand 
again, and bade her “good-night.” When 
he reached the door, he looked back. The 
light was shining full upon her face as she lay 
there, with her babe on her breast, bravely 
“ looking ahead.” 


92 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


1Y. 


THE CLOUDS PASS. 

It was early morning at the Ferry. The 
“up coach” had passed, with lights unextin- 
guished, and the “outsides” still asleep. 
The ferryman had gone up to the Ferry Man- 
sion House, swinging his lantern, and had 
found the sleepy-looking 4 ‘ all-night ’ ’ bar- 
keeper on the point of withdrawing for the day 
on a mattress under the bar. An Indian half- 
breed, porter of the Mansion House, was 
washing out the stains of recent nocturnal dis- 
sipation from the bar-room and veranda ; a 
few birds were twittering on the cotton-woods 
beside the river ; a bolder few had alighted 
upon the veranda, and were trying to reconcile 
the existence of so much lemon-peel and cigar- 
stumps with their ideas of a beneficent Creator. 
A faint earthy freshness and perfume rose 


THE CLOUDS PASS. 


93 


along the river-banks. Deep shadow still lay 
upon the opposite shore ; but in the distance, 
four miles away, Morning along the level crest 
of Table Mountain walked with rosy tread. 

The sleepy bar-keeper was that morning 
doomed to disappointment ; for scarcely had 
the coach passed, when steps were heard upon 
the veranda, and a weary, dusty traveller 
threw his blanket and knapsack to the porter, 
and then dropped into a vacant arm-chair, with 
his eyes fixed on the distant crest of Table 
Mountain. He remained motionless for some 
time, until the bar-keeper, who had already 
concocted the conventional welcome of the 
Mansion House, appeared with it in a glass, 
put it upon the table, glanced at the stranger, 
and then, thoroughly awake, cried out, — 

“ Ruth Pinkney — or I’m a Chinaman ! ” 

The stranger lifted his eyes wearily. Hol- 
low circles were around their orbits ; haggard 
lines were in his cheeks. But it was Ruth. 

He took the glass, and drained it at a single 
draught. “Yes,” he said absently, “Ruth 
Pinkney,” and fixed his eyes again on the dis- 
tant rosy crest. 


94 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


“On 3’our way up home?” suggested the 
bar-keeper, following the direction of Ruth’s 
eyes. 

“ Perhaps.” 

“Been upon a pasear , hain’t ver? Been 
hayin’ a little tear round Sacramento, — seein’ 
the sights.” 

Ruth smiled bitterly. “ Yes.” 

The bar-keeper lingered, ostentatiously wip- 
ing a glass. But Ruth again became ab- 
stracted in the mountain, and the bar-keeper 
turned away. 

How pure and clear that summit looked to 
him ! how restful and steadfast with serenity 
and calm ! how unlike his own feverish, dusty, 
tray el- worn self! A week had elapsed since 
he had last looked upon it, — a week of disap- 
pointment, of anxious fears, of doubts, of 
wild imaginings, of utter helplessness. In his 
hopeless quest of the missing Mornie, he had, 
in fancy, seen this serene eminence haunting 
his remorseful, passion-stricken soul. And 
now, without a clew to guide him to her un- 
known hiding-place, he was back again, to face 
the brother whom he had deceived, with only 


THE CLOUDS PASS. 


95 


the confession of his own weakness. Hard as 
it was to lose forever the fierce, reproachful 
glances of the woman he loved, it was still 
harder, to a man of Ruth’s temperament, to 
look again upon the face of the brother he 
feared. A hand laid upon his shoulder star- 
tled him. It was the bar-keeper. 

“ If it’s a fair question, Ruth Pinkney, I’d 
like to ask ye how long ye kalkilate to hang 
around the Ferry to-day.” 

“ Wh} T ? ” demanded Ruth haughtily. 

“ Because, whatever you’ve been and done, 
I want ye to have a square show. Ole Nixon 
has been cavoortin’ round yer the last two 
days, swearin’ to kill you on sight for runnin’ 
off with his darter. Sabe? Now, let me ax 
ye two questions. First , Are you heeled? ” 

Ruth responded to this dialectical inquiry 
affirmatively by putting his hand on his re- 
volver. 

“Good! Now, second , Have you got the 
gal along here with you ? ” 

“ No,” responded Ruth in a hollow voice. 

“ That’s better yet,” said the man, without 
heeding the tone of the reply. “ A woman — 


96 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

and especially the woman in a row of this 
kind — handicaps a man awful. ” He paused, 
and took up the empty glass. “Look yer, 
Ruth Pinkney, I’m a square man, arid I’ll be 
square with you. So I’ll just tell you you’ve 
got the demdest odds agin’ ye. Pr’aps ye 
know it, and don’t keer. Well, the boys 
around yer are all sidin’ with the old man 
Nixon. It’s the first time the old rip ever 
had a hand in his favor : so the boys will see 
fair play for Nixon, and agin’ you. But I 
reckon 3^011 don’t mind him ! ” 

“ So little, I shall never pull trigger on 
him,” said Ruth gravel} r . 

The bar-keeper stared, and rubbed his chin 
thoughtfully. “ Well, thar’s that Kanaka 
Joe, who used to be sorter sweet on Mornie, — 
he’s an ugly devil, — he’s helpin’ the old 
man.” 

The sad look faded from Ruth’s eyes sud- 
denly. A certain wild Berserker rage — a 
taint of the blood, inherited from heaven 
knows what Old-World ancestr} T , which had 
made the twin-brothers’ South-western eccen- 
tricities respected in the settlement — glowed 


THE CLOUDS PASS. 


97 


in its place. The bar-keeper noted it, and 
augured a lively future for the day’s festivi- 
ties. But it faded again ; and Ruth, as he 
rose, turned hesitatingly towards him. 

“ Have you seen my brother Rand lately? ” 

“Nary.” 

“ He hasn’t been here, or about the Ferry? ” 

“ Nary time.” 

“You haven’t heard,” said Ruth, with a 
faint attempt at a smile, “ if he’s been around 
here asking after me, — sorter looking me up, 
you know? ” 

“Not much,” returned the bar-keeper de- 
liberately. “ Ez far ez I know Rand, — that 
ar brother o’ yours, — he’s one of yer high- 
toned chaps ez doesn’t drink, thinks bar-rooms 
is pizen, and ain’t the sort to come round yer, 
and sling yarns with me.” 

Ruth rose ; but the hand that he placed 
upon the table, albeit a powerful one, trembled 
so that it was with difficulty he resumed his 
knapsack. When he did so, his bent figure, 
stooping shoulders, and haggard face, made 
him appear another man from the one who 
had sat down. There was a slight touch of 


98 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 


apologetic deference and humility in his man- 
ner as he paid his reckoning, and slowly and 
hesitatingly began to descend the steps. 

The bar-keeper looked after him thought- 
fully. “Well, dog ntyskin!” he ejaculated 
to himself, “ ef I hadn’t seen that man — that 
same Ruth Pinkney — straddle a friend’s body 
in this yer very room, and dare a whole crowd 
to come on, I’d swar that he hadn’t any grit 
in him. Thar’s something up ! ” 

But here Ruth reached the last step, and 
turned again. 

“ If you see old man Nixon, say I’m in 

town; if you see that ” (I 

regret to sa}" that I cannot repeat his exact and 
brief characterization of the present condition 
and natal antecedents of Kanaka Joe), “say 
I’m looking out for him,” and was gone. 

He wandered down the road, towards the 
one long, straggling street of the settlement. 
The few people who met him at that early 
hour greeted him with a kind of constrained 
civility ; certain cautious souls hurried by 
without seeing him ; all turned and looked 
after him ; and a few followed him at a respect- 


THE CLOUDS PASS. 


99 


ful distance. A somewhat notorious practical 
joker and recognized wag at the Ferry 
apparently awaited his coming with something 
of invitation and expectation, but, catching 
sight of Ruth’s haggard face and blazing 
eyes, became instantly practical, and by no 
means jocular in his greeting. At the top 
of the hill, Ruth turned to look once more 
upon the distant mountain, now again a mere 
cloud-line on the horizon. In the firm belief 
that he would never again see the sun rise 
upon it, he turned aside into a hazel-thicket, 
and, tearing out a few leaves from his pocket- 
book, wrote two letters, — one to Rand, and 
one to Mornie, but which, as they were never 
delivered, shall not burden this brief chronicle 
of that eventful day. For, while transcribing 
them, he was startled by the sounds of a 
dozen pistol-shots in the direction of the 
hotel he had recently quitted. Something in 
the mere sound provoked the old hereditary 
fighting instinct, and sent him to his feet with 
a bound, and a slight distension of the nostrils, 
and sniffing of the air, not unknown to certain 
men who become half intoxicated by the smell 


100 TIIE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

of powder. He quickly folded kis letters, and 
addressed them carefulty, and, taking off his 
knapsack and blanket, methodically arranged 
them under a tree, with the letters on top. 
Then he examined the lock of his revolver, 
and then, with the step of a man ten 3 r ears 
younger, leaped into the road. He had 
scarcely done so when he was seized, and 
sheer force dragged into a blacksmith’s shop 
at the roadside. He turned his savage face 
and drawn weapon upon his assailant, but 
was surprised to meet the anxious eyes of the 
bar-keeper of the Mansion House. 

“ Don’t be a d d fool,” said the man 

quickly. “Thar’s fifty agin’ you down thar. 
But why in h — 11 didn’t you wipe out old 
Nixon when you had such a good chance ? ’ ’ 

“ Wipe out old Nixon? ” repeated Ruth. 

“ Yes ; just now, when you had him cov- 
ered. ” 

“What!” 

The bar-keeper turned quickly upon Ruth, 
stared at him, and then suddenly burst into a 
fit of laughter. “Well, I’ve knowed you 
two were twins, but damn me if I ever thought 


THE CLOUDS PASS. 101 

I’d be sold like this!” And he again burst 
into a roar of laughter. 

“ What do you mean?” demanded Ruth 
savagely. 

‘ ‘ What do I mean ? ’ ’ returned the bar- 
keeper. u Why, I mean this. I mean that 
your brother Rand, as you call him, he’z bin 
— for a young feller, and a pious feller — doin’ 
about the tallest kind o’ fightin’ to-day that’s 
been done at the Ferry. He’s laid out thar 
ar Kanaka Joe and two of his chums. He 
was pitched into on your quarrel, and he took 
it up for you like a little man. I managed to 
drag him off, up yer in the hazel-bush for 
safety, and out you pops, and I thought you 
was him. He can’t be far away. Halloo ! 
There the} r ’re cornin’ ; and thar’s the doctor, 
trying to keep them back ! ’ ’ 

A crowd of angr} 7 , excited faces, filled the 
road suddenly ; but before them Dr. Duchesne, 
mounted, and with a pistol in his hand, op- 
posed their further progress. 

“Back in the bush!” whispered the bar- 
keeper. “ Now’s your time ! ” 

But Ruth stirred not. “ Go you back,” he 


102 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

said in a low voice, “find Rand, and take 
him away. I will fill his place here.” He 
drew his revolver, and stepped into the road. 

A shout, a report, and the spatter of red 
dust from a bullet near his feet, told him he 
was recognized. He stirred not ; but another 
shout, and a cry, “There they are — both of 
’em ! ” made him turn. 

His brother Rand, with a smile on his lip 
and fire in his eye, stood by his side. Neither 
spoke. Then Rand, quietly, as of old, slipped 
his hand into his brother’s strong palm. Two 
or three bullets sang by them ; a splinter flew 
from the blacksmith’s shed : but the brothers, 
hard griping each other’s hands, and looking 
into each other’s faces with a quiet joy, stood 
there calm and imperturbable. 

There was a momentary pause. The voice 
of Dr. Duchesne rose above the crowd. 

“ Keep back, I say ! keep back ! Or hear 
me ! — for five years I’ve worked among you, 
and mended and patched the holes you’ve 
drilled through each other’s carcasses — Keep 
back, I say ! — or the next man that pulls 
trigger, or steps forward, will get a hole from 


THE CLOUDS PASS . 


103 


me that no surgeon can stop. I’m sick of 
your bungling ball practice ! Keep back ! — 
or, by the living Jingo, I’ll show you where a 
man’s vitals are ! ” 

There was a burst of laughter from the 
crowd, and for a moment the twins were for- 
gotten in this audacious speech and coolly im- 
pertinent presence. 

“That’s right! Now let that infernal old 
hypocritical drunkard, Mat Nixon, step to the 
front.” 

The crowd parted right and left, and half 
pushed, half dragged Nixon before him. 

“Gentlemen,” said the doctor, “this is 
the man who has just shot at Rand Pinkney 
for hiding his daughter. Now, I tell you, 
gentlemen, and I tell him, that for the last 
week his daughter, Mornie Nixon, has been 
under my care as a patient, and my protec- 
tion as a friend. If there’s anybody to be 
shot, the job must begin with me! ” 

There was another laugh, and a cry of 
“ Bully for old Sawbones ! ” Ruth started 
convulsively, and Rand answered his look 
with a confirming pressure of his hand. 


104 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

“That isn’t all, gentlemen: this drunken 
brute has just shot at a gentleman whose 
only offence, to my knowledge, is, that he has, 
for the last week, treated her with a brother’s 
kindness, has taken her into his own home, 
and cared for her wants as if she were his 
own sister.” 

Ruth’s hand again grasped his brother’s. 
Rand colored, and hung his head. 

“There’s more yet, gentlemen. I tell you 
that that girl, Mornie Nixon, has, to my knowl- 
edge, been treated like a lady, has been cared 
for as she never was cared for in her father’s 
house, and, while that father has been pro- 
claiming her shame in every bar-room at the 
Ferry, has had the sympathy and care, night 
and day, of two of the most accomplished 
ladies of the Ferry, — Mrs. Sol Saunders, gen- 
tlemen, and Miss Euphemia.” 

There was a shout of approbation from the 
crowd. Nixon would have slipped away, but 
the doctor stopped him. 

“ Not yet ! I’ve one thing more to say. 
I’ve to tell you, gentlemen, on my profes- 
sional word of honor, that, besides being an 


THE CLOUDS PASS. 


105 


old hypocrite, this same old Mat Nixon is the 
ungrateful, unnatural grandfather of the first 
boy born in the district.’ ’ 

A wild huzza greeted the doctor’s climax. 
By a common consent the crowd turned toward 
the Twins, who, grasping each other’s hands, 
stood apart. The doctor nodded his head. 
The next moment the Twins were surrounded, 
and lifted in the arms of the laughing throng, 
and borne in triumph to the bar-room of the 
Mansion House. 

“Gentlemen,” said the bar-keeper, “call 
for what you like : the Mansion House treats 
to-day in honor of its being the first time that 
Rand Pinkney has been admitted to the bar.” 

It was agreed, that, as her condition was 
still precarious, the news should be broken to 
her gradually and indirectly. The indefatiga-' 
ble Sol had a professional idea, which was not 
displeasing to the Twins. It being a lovely 
summer afternoon, the couch of Mornie was 
lifted out on the ledge, and she lay there bask- 
ing in the sunlight, drinking in the pure air, 
and looking bravely ahead in the daylight as 


106 THl! TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

she had in the darkness, for her couch com- 
manded a view of the mountain flank. And, 
lying there, she dreamed a pleasant dream, 
and in her dream saw Rand returning up the 
mountain-trail. She was half conscious that 
he had good news for her; and, when he at 
last reached her bedside, he began gently and 
kindly to tell his news. But she heard him 
not, or rather in her dream was most occupied 
with his ways and manners, which seemed un- 
like him, yet inexpressibly sweet and tender. 
The tears were fast coming in her eyes, w r hen 
he suddenly dropped on his knees beside her, 
threw away Rand’s disguising hat and coat, 
and clasped her in his arms. And by that she 
knew it was Ruth. 

But what they said ; what hurried words of 
mutual explanation and forgiveness passed 
between them ; what bitter }*et tender recollec- 
tions of hidden fears and doubts, now forever 
chased away in the rain of tears and joyous 
sunshine of that mountain-top, were then whis- 
pered ; whatever of this little chronicle that 
to the reader seems strange and inconsistent 
(as all human record must ever be strange and 


THE CLOUDS PASS. 


107 


imperfect, except to the actors) was then made 
clear, — was never divulged by them, and 
must remain with them forever. The rest of 
the party had withdrawn, and they were alone. 
But when Mornie turned, and placed the baby 
in its father’s arms, they were so isolated in 
their happiness, that the lower world beneath 
them might have swung and drifted away, 
and left that mountain-top the beginning and 
creation of a better planet. 

“ You know all about it now,” said Sol the 
next day, explaining the previous episodes of 
this history to Ruth: “you’ve got the whole 
plot before you. It dragged a little in the 
second act, for the actors weren’t up in their 
parts. But for an amateur performance, on 
the whole, it wasn’t bad.” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Rand im- 
pulsively, “how we’d have got on without 
Euphemia. It’s too bad she couldn’t be here 
to-day.” 

“ She wanted to come,” said Sol ; “ but the 
gentleman she’s engaged to came up from 
Marysville last night.” 


108 THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 

“Gentleman — engaged!” repeated Hand, 
white and red by turns. 

“Well, yes. I say ‘gentleman,’ although 
he’s in the variety profession. She always 
said,” said Sol, quietly looking at Rand, “ that 
she’d never marry out of it.” 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


T HE first intimation given of the eccen- 
tricity of the testator was, I think, in 
the spring of 1854. He was at that time in 
possession of a considerable property, heavily 
mortgaged to one friend, and a wife of some 
attraction, on whose affections another friend 
held an encumbering lien. One day it was 
found that he had secretly dug, or caused to 
be dug, a deep trap before the front-door of 
his dwelling, into which a few friends, in 
the course of the evening, casually and fa- 
miliarly dropped. This circumstance, slight 
in itself, seemed to point to the existence of 
a certain humor in the man, which might 
eventually get into literature, although his 
wife’s lover — a man of quick discernment, 
whose leg was broken by the fall — took other 
views. It was some weeks later, that, while 

109 


110 AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 

dining with certain other friends of his wife, 
he excused himself from the table to quietly 
re-appear at the front-window with a three- 
quarter inch hydraulic pipe, and a stream of 
water projected at the assembled company. 
An attempt was made to take public cogni- 
zance of this ; but a majority of the citizens 
of Red Dog, who were not at dinner, decided 
that a man had a right to choose his own 
methods of diverting his company. Never- 
theless, there were some hints of his insanity ; 
his wife recalled other acts clearty attributable 
to dementia ; the crippled lover argued from 
his own experience that the integrity of her 
limbs could only be secured by leaving her 
husband’s house ; and the mortgagee, fearing 
a further damage to his property, foreclosed. 
But here the cause of all this anxiety took 
matters into his own hands, and disappeared. 

When we next heard from him, he had, in 
some m3*sterious way, been relieved alike of 
his wife and property, and was living alone at 
Rockville fifty miles away, and editing a news- 
paper. But that originality he had displayed 
when dealing with the problems of his own 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


Ill 


private life, when applied to politics in the 
columns of “The Rockville Vanguard” was 
singularly unsuccessful. An amusing exag- 
geration, purporting to be an exact account 
of the manner in which the opposing candidate 
had murdered his Chinese laundryman, was, I 
regret to say, answered only by assault and 
battery. A gratuitous and purely imaginative 
description of a great religious revival in Ca- 
laveras, in which the sheriff of the county — a 
notorious^ profane sceptic — was alleged to 
have been the chief exhorter, resulted only in 
the withdrawal of the county advertising from 
the paper. In the midst of this practical con- 
fusion he suddenly died. It was then dis- 
covered, as a crowning proof of his absurdity, 
that he had left a will, bequeathing his entire 
effects to a freckle-faced maid-servant at the 
Rockville Hotel. But that absurdity became 
serious when it was also discovered that among 
these effects were a thousand shares in the 
Rising Sun Mining Compan}", which a day or 
two after his demise, and while people were 
still laughing at his grotesque benefaction, 
suddenly sprang into opulence and celebrity. 


112 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


Three millions of dollars was roughly esti- 
mated as the value of the estate thus wantonly 
sacrificed. For it is only fair to state, as a 
just tribute to the enterprise and energy of 
that young and thriving settlement, that there 
was not probably a single citizen who did not 
feel himself better able to control the deceased 
humorist’s property. Some had expressed a 
doubt of their ability to support a family ; 
others had felt perhaps too keenly the deep 
responsibility resting upon them when chosen 
from the panel as jurors, and had evaded their 
public duties ; a few had declined office and a 
low salaiy : but no one shrank from the possi- 
bilit} r of having been called upon to assume 
the functions of Peggy Moffat, the heiress. 

The will was contested, — first by the 
widow, whom it now appeared had never been 
legally divorced from the deceased ; next by 
four of his cousins, who awoke, only too late, 
to a consciousness of his moral and pecuniary 
worth. But the humble legatee — a singu- 
larly plain, unpretending, uneducated West- 
ern girl — exhibited a dogged pertinacity in 
claiming her rights. She rejected all compro- 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


113 


mises. A rough sense of justice in the com- 
munity, while doubting her ability to take 
care of the whole fortune, suggested that she 
ought to be content with three hundred thou- 
sand dollars. “ She’s bound to throw even 
that away on some denied skunk of a man, 
natooralty ; but three millions is too much to 
give a chap for makin’ her onhappy. It’s 
offerin’ a temptation to cussedness.” The 
only opposing voice to this counsel came 
from the sardonic/ lips of Mr. Jack Hamlin. 
“ Suppose,” suggested that gentleman, turning 
abruptly on the speaker, — “suppose, when 
you won twenty thousand dollars of me last 
Friday night — suppose that, instead of hand- 
ing you over the money as I did — suppose 
I’d got up on my hind-legs, and said, 4 Look 

yer, Bill Wethersbee, you’re a d d fool. 

If I give ye that twenty thousand, you’ll throw 
it away in the*first skin-game in ’Frisco, and 
hand it over to the first short card-sharp you’ll 
meet. There’s a thousand, — enough for you 
to fling away, — take it and get ! ’ Suppose 
what I’d said to you was the frozen truth, 
and you know’d it, would that have been the 


114 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


square thing to plaj 7 on you?” But here 
Wethersbee quickly pointed out the inefficiency 
of the comparison by stating that lie had won 
the money fairly with a stake. “ And how do 
you know,” demanded Hamlin savagely, bend- 
ing his black eyes on the astounded casuist, — 
“ how do you know that the gal hezn’t put 
down a stake? ” The man stammered an un- 
intelligible reply. The gambler laid his white 
hand on Wethersbee’s shoulder. “ Look yer, 
old man,” he said, “every gal stakes her 
whole pile, — you can bet jour life on that, — 
whatever’ s her little game. If she took to 
keerds instead of her feelings, if she’d put 
up 4 chips * instead o’ body and soul, she’d 
bust every bank ’twixt this and ’Frisco ! You 
hear me?” 

Somewhat of this idea was conveyed, I fear 
not quite as sentimentally, to Peggy Moffat 
herself. The best legal wisdom of San Fran- 
cisco, retained by the widow and relatives, took 
occasion, in a private interview with Peggy, 
to point out that she stood in the quasi-crim- 
inal attitude of having unlawfully practised 
upon the affections of an insane elderl} 7 gentle* 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


115 


man, with a view of getting possession of his 
property, and suggested to her that no vestige 
of her moral character would remain after the 
trial, if she persisted in forcing her claims to 
that issue. It is said that Pegg 3 T , on hearing 
this, stopped washing the plate she had in her 
hands, and, twisting the towel around her fin- 
gers, fixed her small pale blue eyes at the 
lawyer. 

46 And ez that the kind o’ chirpin these crit- 
ters keep up? ” 

44 1 regret to say, my dear } T oung lady,” 
responded the lawyer, 4 4 that the world is cen- 
sorious. I must add,” he continued, with 
engaging frankness, 44 that we professional 
lawyers are apt to study the opinion of the 
world, and that such will be the theory of — 
our side.” 

“Then,” said Peggy stoutty, 44 ez I allow 
I’ve got to go into court to defend my char- 
acter, I might as well pack in them three mil- 
lions too.” 

There is hearsay evidence that Peg added to 
this speech a wish and desire to 4 4 bust the 
crust” of her traducers, and, remarking that 


116 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


“that was the kind of hair-pin” she was, 
closed the conversation with an unfortunate 
accident to the plate, that left a severe contu- 
sion on the legal brow of her companion. But 
this story, popular in the bar-rooms and 
gulches, lacked confirmation in higher circles. 
Better authenticated was the legend related of 
an interview with her own lawyer. That gen- 
tleman had pointed out to her the advantage 
of being able to show some reasonable cause 
for the singular generosity of the testator. 

“Although,” he continued, “the law does 
not go back of the will for reason or cause for 
its provisions, it would be a strong point with 
the judge and jury — particularly if the theory 
of insanity were set up — for us to show that 
the act was logical and natural. Of course 
you have — I speak confidently, Miss Moffat 
— certain ideas of your own why the late Mr. 
Byways was so singularly generous to you.” 

“ No, I haven’t,” said Peg decidedly. 

“ Think again. Had he not expressed to 
you — you understand that this is confidential 
between us, although I protest, my dear 3’oung 
lady, that I see no reason why it should not 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


117 


be made public — had he not given utterance 
to sentiments of a nature consistent with some 
future matrimonial relations ? ’ ’ But here Miss 
Peg’s large mouth, which had been slowly 
relaxing over her irregular teeth, stopped him. 

“If you mean he wanted to marry me — 
No!” 

“I see. But were there any conditions — 
of course you know the law takes no cogni- 
zance of any not expressed in the will ; but 
still, for the sake of mere corroboration of the 
bequest — do }T>u know of any conditions on 
which he gave you the property ? ’ ’ 

“You mean did he want an} T thing in re- 
turn?” 

“ Exactty, my dear young lady.” 

Peg’s face on one side turned a deep ma- 
genta color, on the other a lighter cherry, 
while her nose was purple, and her forehead an 
Indian red. To add to the effect of this awk- 
ward and discomposing dramatic exhibition of 
embarrassment, she began to wipe her hands 
on her dress, and sat silent. 

“I understand,” said the lawj’er hastily. 
u No matter — the conditions were fulfilled.” 


118 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


“No! ” said Peg amazedly. “ How could 
they be until he was dead ? ’ ’ 

It was the lawyer’s turn to color and grow 
embarrassed. 

“ He did say something, and make some 
conditions,” continued Peg, with a certain 
firmness through her awkwardness; “but 
that’s nobody’s business but mine and his’n. 
And it’s no call o’ yours or theirs.” 

“ But, my dear Miss Moffat, if these very 
conditions were proofs of his right mind, you 
surely would not object to make them known, 
if only to enable you to put yourself in a con- 
dition to carry them out.” 

“But,” said Peg cunningty, “ s’pose^'ou 
and the Court didn’t think ’em satisfactory ? 
S’pose you thought ’em queer ? Eh? ” 

With this helpless limitation on the part of 
the defence, the case came to trial. Every- 
body remembers it, — how for six weeks it was 
the daily food of Calaveras County ; how for 
six weeks the intellectual and moral and spir- 
itual competency of Mr. James Byways to dis- 
pose of his property was discussed with learned 
and formal obscurity in the court, and with 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


119 


unlettered and independent prejudice by camp- 
fires and in bar-rooms. At the end of that 
time, when it was logically established that at 
least nine-tenths of the population of Calaveras 
were harmless lunatics, and everybody else’s 
reason seemed to totter on its throne, an ex- 
hausted jury succumbed one day to the pres- 
ence of Peg in the court-room. It was not a 
prepossessing presence at any time ; but the 
excitement, and an injudicious attempt to 
ornament herself, brought her defects into a 
glaring relief that was almost unreal. Every 
freckle on her face stood out and asserted itself 
singh r ; her pale blue eyes, that gave no indica- 
tion of her force of character, were weak and 
wandering, or stared blankly at the judge ; her 
over-sized head, broad at the base, terminating 
in the scantiest possible light-colored braid in 
the middle of her narrow shoulders, was as 
hard and uninteresting as the wooden spheres 
that topped the railing against which she sat. 
The jury, who for six weeks had had her de- 
scribed to them by the plaintiffs as an arch, 
wily enchantress, who had sapped the failing 
reason of Jim Byways, revolted to a man 


# 


120 AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 

There was something so appallingly gratuitous 
in her plainness, that it was felt that three 
millions was scarcely a compensation for it. 
“ Ef that money was give to her, she earned it 
swre, boys : it wasn’t no softness of the old 
man,” said the foreman. When the jury 
retired, it was felt that she had cleared her 
character: when the}” re-entered the room 
with their verdict, it was known that she had 
been awarded three millions damages for its 
defamation. 

She got the money. But those who had 
confidently expected to see her squander it 
were disappointed : on the contrary, it was 
presently whispered that she was exceedingly 
penurious. That admirable woman, Mrs. Sti- 
ver of Red Dog, who accompanied her to San 
Francisco to assist her in making purchases, 
was loud in her indignation. “ She cares more 
for two bits 1 than I do for five dollars. She 
wouldn’t buy any thing at the ‘ City of Paris/ 
because it was ‘too expensive,’ and at last 
rigged herself out, a perfect guy, at some cheap 
slop-shops in Market Street. And after all 


1 Twenty -five cents. 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 121 

the care Jane and me took of her, giving up 
our time and experience to her, she never so 
much as made Jane a single present.” Popular 
opinion, which regarded Mrs. Stiver’s atten- 
tion as purely speculative, was not shocked at 
this unprofitable denotement; but when Peg 
refused to give any thing to clear the mortgage 
off the new Presbyterian Church, and even 
declined to take shares in the Union Ditch, 
considered by many as an equally sacred and 
safe investment, she began to lose favor. 
Nevertheless, she seemed to be as regardless 
of public opinion as she had been before the 
trial ; took a small house, in which she lived 
with an old woman who had once been a fellow- 
servant, on apparently terms of perfect equali- 
ty, and looked after her money. I wish I 
could sa}' that she did this discreetly ; but the 
fact is, she blundered. The same dogged per- 
sistenc}^ she had displayed in claiming her 
rights was visible in her unsuccessful ventures. 
She sunk tw T o hundred thousand dollars in a 
worn-out shaft original^ projected b} r the de- 
ceased testator ; she prolonged the miserable 
existence of “ The Rockville Vanguard ” long 


122 AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 

after it had ceased to interest even its enemies ; 
she kept the doors of the Rockville Hotel open 
when its custom had departed ; she lost the 
co-operation and favor of a fellow-capitalist 
through a trifling misunderstanding in which 
she was derelict and impenitent ; she had three 
law-suits on her hands that could have been set- 
tled for a trifle. I note these defects to show 
that she was by no means a heroine. I quote 
her affair with Jack Folinsbee to show she was 
scarcely the average woman. 

That handsome, graceless vagabond had 
struck the outskirts of Red Dog in a cyclone 
of dissipation which left him a stranded but 
still rather interesting wreck in a ruinous 
cabin not far from Peg Moffat’s virgin bower. 
Pale, crippled from excesses, with a voice 
quite tremulous from sympathetic' emotion 
more or less developed by stimulants, he 
lingered languidly, with much time on his 
hands, and only a few neighbors. In this 
fascinating kind of general deshabille of morals, 
dress, and the emotions, he appeared before 
Peg Moffat. More than that, he occasionally 
limped with her through the settlement. The 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


123 


critical eye of Red Dog took in the singular 
pair, — Jack, voluble, suffering, apparently 
overcome by remorse, conscience, vituperation, 
and disease ; and Peg, open-mouthed, high- 
colored, awkward, yet delighted ; and the 
critical e}~e of Red Dog, seeing this, winked 
meaningly at Rockville. No one knew what 
passed between them ; but all observed that 
one summer day Jack drove down the main 
street of Red Dog in an open buggy, with the 
heiress of that town beside him. Jack, albeit 
a trifle shak}^, held the reins with something 
of his old dash ; and Mistress Peggy, in an 
enormous bonnet with pearl-colored ribbons 
a shade darker than her hair, holding in her 
short, pink-gloved fingers a bouquet of } T ellow 
roses, absolutely glowed crimson in distressful 
gratification over the dash-board. So these 
two fared on, out of the busy settlement, 
into the woods, against the rosy sunset. Pos- 
sibly it was not a pretty picture : nevertheless, 
as the dim aisles of the solemn pines opened 
to receive them, miners leaned upon their 
spades, and mechanics stopped in their toil to 
look after them. The critical eye of Red 


124 AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 

Dog, perhaps from the sun, perhaps from the 
fact that it had itself once been young and 
dissipated, took on a kindly moisture as it 
gazed. 

The moon was high when they returned. 
Those who had waited to congratulate Jack on 
this near prospect of a favorable change in his 
fortunes were chagrined to find, that, having 
seen the lady safe home, he had himself de- 
parted from Red Dog. Nothing was to be 
gained from Peg, who, on the next da} 7 and 
ensuing days, kept the even tenor of her wa} 7 , 
sunk a thousand or two more in unsuccessful 
speculation, and made no change in her habits 
of personal economy. Weeks passed without 
any apparent sequel to this romantic idyl. 
Nothing was known definitely until Jack, a 
month later, turned up in Sacramento, with a 
billiard-cue in his hand, and a heart over- 
charged with indignant emotion. “I don’t 
mind sa} T ing to } 7 ou, gentlemen, in confi- 
dence,” said Jack to a circle of sympathizing 
players, — “ I don’t mind telling you regarding 
this thing, that I was as soft on that freckled- 
faced, red-eyed, tallow-haired gal, as if she’d 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


125 


been — a — a — an actress. And I don’t 
mind saying, gentlemen, that, as far as I 
understand women, she was just as soft on 
me. You kin laugh ; but it’s so. One day I 
took her out buggy-riding, — in style too, — 
and out on the road I offered to do the square 
thing, just as if she’d been a lady, — offered 
to marry her then and there. And what did 
she do?” said Jack with a hysterical laugh. 
“Why, blank it all! offered me twenty-five 
dollars a week allowance — pay to be stopped 
when I wasn't at home! ” The roar of laugh- 
ter that greeted this frank confession was 
broken by a quiet voice asking, “And what 
did you sa3 r ?” — “Say?” screamed Jack, 

“I just told her to go to with her 

money.” — “They say,” continued the quiet 
voice, “ that } T ou asked her for the loan of two 
hundred and fifty dollars to get 3’ou to Sacra- 
mento — and that you got it.” — “ Who sa3’s 
so?” roared Jack. “Show me the blank 
liar.” There was a dead silence. Then the 
possessor of the quiet voice, Mr. Jack Ham- 
lin, languidty reached under the table, took 
the chalk, and, rubbing the end of his billiard- 


126 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


cue, began with gentle gravity: “It was an 
old friend of mine in Sacramento, a man with 
a wooden leg, a game e} T e, three fingers on his 
right hand, and a consumptive cough. Being 
unable, naturally, to back himself, he leaves 
things to me. So, for the sake of argument,” 
continued Hamlin, suddenly lajdng down his 
cue, and fixing his wicked black eyes on the 
speaker, “ say it’s me! ” 

I am afraid that this story, whether truthful 
or not, did not tend to increase Peg’s popu- 
larity in a community where recklessness and 
generositj^ condoned for the absence of all 
the other virtues ; and it is possible, also, that 
Bed Dog was no more free from prejudice than 
other more civilized but equalty disappointed 
match-makers. Likewise, during the follow- 
ing year, she made several more foolish ven- 
tures, and lost heavily. In fact, a feverish 
desire to increase her store at almost any risk 
seemed to possess her. At last it was an- 
nounced that she intended to re-open the infelix 
Bockville Hotel, and keep it herself. Wild as 
this scheme appeared in theory, when put into 
practical operation there seemed to be some 


AN HEIRESS OR RED DOG. 


127 


chance of success. Much, doubtless, was 
owing to her practical knowledge of hotel- 
keeping, but more to her rigid economy and 
untiring industry. The mistress of millions, 
she cooked, washed, waited on table, made 
the beds, and labored like a common menial. 
Visitors were attracted by this novel spectacle. 
The income of the house increased as their 
respect for the hostess lessened. No anecdote 
of her avarice was too extravagant for current 
belief. It was even alleged that she had been 
known to carry the luggage of guests to their 
rooms, that she might anticipate the usual 
porter’s gratuity. She denied herself the or- 
dinary necessaries of life. She was poorly 
clad, she was ill-fed — but the hotel was mak- 
ing money. 

A few hinted of insanity; others shook 
their heads, and said a curse was entailed on 
the property. It was believed, also, from her 
appearance, that she could not long survive 
this tax on her energies, and alread}' there 
was discussion as to the probable final disposi- 
tion of her property. 

It was the particular fortune of Mr. Jack 


128 AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 

Hamlin to be able to set the world right on 
this and other questions regarding her. 

A stormy December evening had set in 
when he chanced to be a guest of the Rockville 
Hotel. He had, during the past week, been 
engaged in the prosecution of his noble pro- 
fession at Red Dog, and had, in the graphic 
language of a coadjutor, “cleared out the 
town, except his fare in the pockets of the 
stage-driver.” “The Red Dog Standard” 
had bewailed his departure in playful obituary 
verse, beginning, “ Dearest Johnny, thou hast 
left us,” wherein the rhymes “ bereft us ” and 
4 4 deplore ’ ’ carried a vague allusion to 4 4 a 
thousand dollars more.” A quiet contentment 
naturally suffused his personality, and he w r as 
more than usually lazy and deliberate in his 
speech. At midnight, when he was about to 
retire, he was a little surprised, however, by a 
tap on his door, followed by the presence of 
Mistress Peg Moffat, heiress, and landlady 
of Rockville Hotel. 

Mr. Hamlin, despite his previous defence 
of Peg, had no liking for her. His fastidious 
taste rejected her uncomeliness ; his habits of 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


129 


thought and life were all antagonistic to what 
he had heard of her niggardliness and greed. 
As she stood there, in a dirty calico wrapper, 
still redolent with the day’s cuisine , crimson 
with embarrassment and the recent heat of 
the kitchen range, she certainly was not an 
alluring apparition. Happity for the lateness 
of the hour, her loneliness, and the infelix 
reputation of the man before her, she was at 
least a safe one. And I fear the very con- 
sciousness of this scarcely relieved her em- 
barrassment. 

“ I wanted to say a few w^ords to ye alone, 
Mr. Hamlin,” she began, taking an unoffered 
seat on the end of his portmanteau , “or I 
shouldn’t hev intruded. But it’s the o.nly time 
I can ketch you, or j t ou me ; for I’m down in 
the kitchen from sun-up till now.” 

She stopped awkwardly, as if to listen to 
the wind, which was rattling the windows, and 
spreading a film of rain against the opaque 
darkness without. Then, smoothing her wrap- 
per over her knees, she remarked, as if open- 
ing a desultory conversation, “ Thar’s a power 
of rain outside.” 


130 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG . 


Mr. Hamlin’s only response to this mete- 
orological observation was a yawn, and a pre- 
liminary tug at his coat as he began to re- 
move it. 

“ I thought ye couldn’t mind doin’ me a 
favor,” continued Peg, with a hard, awkward 
laugh, “ partik’ly seein’ ez folks allowed you’d 
sorter bin a friend o’ mine, and hed stood up 
for me at times when you hedn’t any partikler 
call to do it. I hevn’t,” she continued, look- 
ing down on her lap, and following with her 
finger and thumb a seam of her gown, — “I 
hevn’t so many friends ez slings a kind word 
for me these times that I disremember them.” 
Her under lip quivered a little here ; and, after 
vainly hunting for a forgotten handkerchief, 
she finally lifted the hem of her gown, wiped 
her snub nose upon it, but left the tears still 
in her eyes as she raised them to the man. 

Mr. Hamlin, who had by this time divested 
himself of his coat, stopped uhbuttoning his 
waistcoat, and looked at her. 

“Like ez not tliar’ll be high water on the 
North Fork, ef this rain keeps on,” said Peg, 
as if apologetically, looking toward the win- 
dow. 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 131 

The other rain having ceased, Mr. Hamlin 
began to unbutton his waistcoat again. 

“ I wanted to ask ye a favor about Mr. — 
about — Jack Folinsbee,” began Peg again 
hurriedly. “He’s ailin’ agin, and is mighty 
low. And he’s losin’ a heap o’ money here 
and thar, and mostly to you. You cleaned him 
out of two thousand dollars last night — all 
he had.” 

“ Well? ” said the gambler coldly. 

“ Well, I thought ez you woz a friend o’ 
mine, I’d ask ye to let up a little on him,” 
said Peg, with an affected laugh. “You kin 
do it. Don’t let him play with ye.” 

“Mistress Margaret Moffat,” said Jack, 
with lazy deliberation, taking off his watch, 
and beginning to wind it up, “ ef you’re that 
much stuck after Jack Folinsbee, you kin 
keep him off of me much easier than I kin. 
You’re a rich woman. Give him enough 
money to break my bank, or break himself for 
good and all ; but don’t keep him forlin’ 
round me in hopes to make a raise. It don’t 
pa}’, Mistress Moffat — it don’t pay ! ” 

A finer nature than Peg’s would have mis- 


132 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


understood or resented the gambler’s slang, 
and the miserable truths that underlaid it. 
But she comprehended him instantly, and sat 
hopelessly silent. 

“Ef you’ll take my advice,” continued 
Jack, placing his watch and chain under his 
pillow, and quietly unloosing his cravat, 
« “ you’ll quit this yer foilin’, marry that chap, 
and hand over to him the money and the 
money'-makin’ that’s killin’ } t ou. He’ll get rid 
of it soon enough. I don’t say this because I 
expect to git it ; for, when he’s got that much 
of a raise, he’ll make a break for ’Frisco, and 
lose it to some first-class sport there. I don’t 
say, neither, that } t ou mayn’t be in luck enough 
to reform him. I don’t say, neither — and it’s 
a derned sight more likely ! — that 3^011 ma3’n’t 
be luckier 3 T et, and he’ll up and die afore he 
gits rid of }’our mone3 T . But I do sa J T 3 T ou’ll 
make him happy now ; and, ez I reckon 3 r ou’ re 
about ez badty stuck after that chap ez I ever 
saw an3 T woman, 3 r ou won’t be hurtin’ }T>ur 
own feelin’s either.” 

The blood left Peg’s face as she looked up. 
“But that’s why I can’t give him the money 
■ — and he won’t marry me without it.” 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


133 


Mr. Hamlin’s hand dropped from the last 
button of his waistcoat. “Can’t — give — 
him — the — mone} T ? ” he repeated slowly-. 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because — because I love him.” 

Mr. Hamlin rebuttoned his waistcoat, and 
sat down patiently on the bed. Peg arose, 
and awkwardty drew the portmanteau a little 
nearer to him. 

“ When Jim B} T ways left me this yer prop- 
erty,” she began, looking cautiously around, 
“he left it to me on conditions; not condi- 
tions ez waz in his written will, but condi- 
tions ez waz spoken. A promise I made him 
in this very room, Mr. Hamlin, — this very 
room, and on that very bed you’re sittin’ on, 
in which he died.” 

Like most gamblers, Mr. Hamlin was su- 
perstitious. He rose hastily from the bed, 
and took a chair beside the window. The 
wind shook it as if the discontented spirit of 
Mr. Bj'wa}^ were without, re-enforcing his last 
injunction. 

“ I don’t know if you remember him,” said 


134 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


-Peg feverishly. “ He was a man ez hed 
suffered. All that he loved — wife, fammerly, 
friends — had gone back on him. He tried to 
make light of it afore folks ; but with me, 
being a poor gal, he let himself out. I never 
told anybody this. I don’t know why he told 
me; I don’t know,” continued Peg, with a 
sniffle, “ why he wanted to make me unhappy 
too. But he made me promise, that, if he left 
me his fortune, I’d never , never — so help me 
God ! — never share it with any man or woman 
that I loved. I didn’t think it would be hard 
to keep that promise then, Mr. Hamlin ; for I 
was very poor, and hedn’t a friend nor a liv- 
ing bein’ that was kind to me, but /lira.” 

“ But you’ve as good as broken your prom- 
ise alread}V’ said Hamlin. “You’ve given 
Jack money, as I know.” 

“ Only what I made myself. Listen to me, 
Mr. Hamlin. When Jack proposed to me, I 
offered him about what I kalkilated I could 
earn myself. When he went away, and was 
sick and in trouble, I came here and took this 
hotel. I knew that by hard work I could 
make it pay. Don’t laugh at me, please. I 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


135 


did work hard, and did make it pay — without 
takin’ one cent of the fortin’, And all I 
made, workin’ by night and day, I gave to 
him. I did, Mr. Hamlin. I ain’t so hard to 
him as you think, though I might be kinder, 
I know.” 

Mr. Hamlin rose, deliberately resumed his 
coat, watch, hat, and overcoat. When he 
was completely dressed again, he turned to 
Peg. 

“ Do you mean to say that you’ve been 
givin’ all the money you made here to this A i 
first-class cherubim? ” 

“ Yes ; but he didn’t know where I got it. 
O Mr. Hamlin ! he didn’t know that.” 

“ Do I understand 30U, that he’s bin buck- 
ing agin Faro with the mone} r that }’ou raised 
on hash? And you makin’ the hash? ” 

“ But he didn’t know that. He wouldn’t 
hev took it if I’d told him.” 

u No, he’d hev died fust ! ” said Mr. Ham- 
lin gravely. “Why, he’s that sensitive — is 
Jack Folinsbee — that it nearly kills him to 
take money even of me. But where does this 
angel reside when he isn’t fightin’ the tiger, 


136 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


and is, so to speak, visible to the naked 
eye?” 

44 He — he — stops here,” said Peg, with 
an awkward blush. 

“I see. Might I ask the number of his 
room — or should I be a — disturbing him in * 
his meditations?” continued Jack Hamlin, 
with grave politeness. 

44 Oh ! then you’ll promise ? And 3 'ou’ll talk 
to him, and make him promise? ” 

44 Of course,” said Hamlin quietly. 

4 4 And A'ou’ll remember he’s sick — very 
sick? His room’s No. 44, at the end of the 
hall. Perhaps I’d better go with 30U?” 

44 I’ll find it.” 

44 And 30 U won’t be too hard on him? ” 

44 I’ll be a father to him,” said Hamlin 
demurety, as he opened the door, and stepped 
into the hall. But he hesitated a moment, 
and then turned, and gravety held out his 
hand. Peg took it timidly. He did not seem 
quite in earnest ; and his black e 3 T es, vainly 
questioned, indicated nothing. But he shook 
her hand warmly, and the next moment was 
gone. 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


137 


He found the room with no difficulty. A 
faint cough from within, and a querulous pro- 
test, answered his knock. Mr. Hamlin en- 
tered without further ceremony. A sickening 
smell of drugs, a palpable flavor of stale dis- 
sipation, and the wasted figure of Jack Fol- 
insbee, half dressed, extended upon the bed, 
greeted him. Mr. Hamlin was for an instant 
startled. There were hollow circles round the 
sick man’s eyes ; there was palsy in his trem- 
bling limbs ; there was dissolution in his 
feverish breath. 

“ What’s up? ” he asked huskily and nerv- 
ously. 

44 I am, and I want you to get up too.” 

“ I can’t, Jack. I’m regularly done up.” 
He reached his shaking hand towards a glass 
half-filled with suspicious, pungent-smelling 
liquid ; but Mr. Hamlin stayed it. 

‘ 4 Do you want to get back that two thou- 
sand dollars you lost? ” 

44 Yes.” 

44 Well, get up, and marry that woman 
clown stairs.” 

Folinsbee laughed half hysterically, half 
sardonically. 


138 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


■ “ She won’t give it to me.” 

44 No ; but I will.” 

44 You?” 

44 Yes.” 

Folinsbee, with an attempt at a reckless 
laugh, rose, trembling and with difficulty, to 
his swollen feet. Hamlin eyed him narrow T ty, 
and then bade him lie down again. 44 To- 
morrow will do,” he said, 44 and then ” — 

“If I don’t” — 

44 If 3’ou don’t,” responded Hamlin, 44 why, 
I’ll just wade in and cut you out! ” 

But on the morrow Mr. Hamlin was spared 
that possible act of disloyalty ; for, in the 
night, the already hesitating spirit of Mr. 
Jack Folinsbee took flight on the wings of the 
south-east storm. When or how it happened, 
nobody knew. Whether this last excitement, 
and the near prospect of matrimony, or 
whether an overdose of anod3*ne, had hastened 
his end, was never known. I only know, 
that, when the3 T came to awaken him the next 
morning, the best that was left of him — a 
face still beautiful and bo3 r -like — looked up 
coldly at the tearful eyes of Peg Moffat. 44 It 


AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG. 


139 


serves me right, it’s a judgment, ” she said 
in a low whisper to Jack Hamlin; “for God 
knew that I’d broken my word, and willed all 
my property to him.” 

She did not long survive him. Whether 
Mr. Hamlin ever clothed with action the sug- 
gestion indicated in his speech to the lamented 
Jack that night, is not of record. He was 
always her friend, and on her demise became 
her executor. But the bulk of her property 
was left to a distant relation of handsome 
Jack Folinsbee, and so passed out of the con- 
trol of Red Dog forever. 


THE 


GREAT DEADWOOD MYSTERY. 


I T was growing quite dark in the telegraph- 
office at Cottonwood, Tuolumne County, 
California. The office, a box-like enclosure, 
was separated from the public room of the 
Miners’ Hotel b}^ a thin partition ; and the 
operator, who was also news and express agent 
at Cottonwood, had closed his window, and 
was lounging b} T his news-stand preparatory to 
going home. Without, the first monotonous 
rain of the season was dripping from the 
porches of the hotel in the waning light of a 
December day. The operator, accustomed as 
he was to long intervals of idleness, was fast 
becoming bored. 

The tread of mud-muffled boots on the 
veranda, and the entrance of two men, offered 
a momentary excitement. He recognized in 
140 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY . 141 

the strangers two prominent citizens of Cot- 
tonwood ; and their manner bespoke business. 
One of them proceeded to the desk, wrote a 
despatch, and handed it to the other inter- 
rogatively. 

“That’s about the way the thing p’ints,” 
responded his companion assentingly. 

“ I reckoned it only squar to use his dienti- 
cal words? ” 

“That’s so.” 

The first speaker turned to the operator 
with the despatch. 

“ How soon can you shove her through? ” 

The operator glanced professionally over 
the address and the length of the despatch. 

“ Now,” he answered promptly. 

“ And she gets there? ” 

“To-night. But there’s no delivery until 
to-morrow.” 

“ Shove her through to-night, and say 
there’s an extra twenty left here for delivery.” 

The operator, accustomed to all kinds of 
extravagant outlay for expedition, replied that 
he 'would lay this proposition, with the de- 
spatch, before the San Francisco office. He 


142 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

then took it and read it — and re-read it. 
He preserved the usual professional apathy, — 
had doubtless sent many more enigmatical 
and mysterious messages, — but nevertheless, 
when he finished, he raised his eyes inquiringly 
to his customer. That gentleman, who en- 
joyed a reputation for equal spontaneity of 
temper and revolver, met his gaze a little 
impatiently. The operator had recourse to a 
trick. Under the pretence of misunderstand- 
ing the message, he obliged the sender to 
repeat it aloud for the sake of accuracy, and 
even suggested a few verbal alterations, osten- 
sibly to insure correctness, but really to ex- 
tract further information. Nevertheless, the 
man doggedly persisted in a literal transcript 
of his message. The operator went to his 
instrument hesitatingly. 

“I suppose,” he added half-questioningly, 
“there ain’t no chance of a mistake. This 
address is Rightbody, that rich old Bostonian 
that everybody knows. There ain’t but one ? ’ ’ 

“ That’s the address,” responded the first 
speaker coolly. 

“ Didn’t know the old chap had investments 


THE GRRAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 143 

out here,” suggested the operator, lingering at 
his instrument. 

“ No more did I,” was the insufficient reply. 

For some few moments nothing was heard 
but the click of the instrument, as the operator 
worked the key, with the usual appearance of 
imparting confidence to a somewhat reluctant 
hearer who preferred to talk himself. The 
two men stood b}', watching his motions with 
the usual awe of the unprofessional. When 
he had finished, they laid before him two gold- 
pieces. As the operator took them up, he 
could not help saying, — 

“The old man went off* kinder sudden, 
didn’t he ? Had no time to write ? ” 

“Not sudden for that kind o’ man,” was 
the exasperating reply. 

But the speaker was not to be disconcerted. 
“ If there is an answer ” — he began. 

“ There ain’t any,” replied the first speaker 
quietly. 

“Why?” 

‘ 4 Because the man ez sent the message is 
dead.” 

“ But it’s signed by you two.” 


144 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

“ On’y ez witnesses — eli ? ’ ’ appealed the 
first speaker to liis comrade. 

“ On’y ez witnesses,” responded the other. 

The operator shrugged his shoulders. The 
business concluded, the first speaker slightly 
relaxed. He nodded to the operator, and 
turned to the bar-room with a pleasing social 
impulse. When their glasses were set down 
empty, the first speaker, with a cheerful con- 
demnation of the hard times and the weather, 
apparently dismissed all previous proceedings 
from his mind, and lounged out with his com- 
panion. At the corner of the street they 
stopped. 

“ Well, that job’s done,” said the first 
speaker, by way of relieving the slight social 
embarrassment of parting. 

“ Thet’s so,” responded his companion, and 
shook his hand. 

The}’ parted. A gust of wind swept through 
the pines, and struck a faint iEolian cry from 
the wires above their heads ; and the rain 
and the darkness again slowly settled upon 
Cottonwood. 

The message lagged a little at San Francis- 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 145 

co, laid over half an hour at Chicago, and 
fought longitude the whole way ; so that it was 
past midnight when the “ all night ” operator 
took it from the wires at Boston. But it was 
freighted with a mandate from the San Fran- 
cisco office ; and a messenger was procured, 
who sped with it through dark snow-bound 
streets, between the high walls of close-shut- 
tered raj’less houses, to a certain formal square 
ghostly with snow-covered statues. Here he 
ascended the broad steps of a reserved and 
solid-looking mansion, and pulled a bronze 
bell-knob, that somewhere within those chaste 
recesses, after an apparent reflective pause, 
coldty communicated the fact that a stranger 
was waiting without — as he ought. Despite 
the lateness of the hour, there was a slight 
glow from the windows, clearly not enough to 
warm the messenger with indications of a fes- 
tivity within, but yet bespeaking, as it were, 
some prolonged though subdued excitement. 
The sober servant who took the despatch, and 
receipted for it as gravely as if witnessing a 
last will and testament, respectfully paused 
before the entrance of the drawing-room. 


146 THE GREAT BE AD WOOD MYSTERY. 

The sound of measured and rhetorical speech, 
through which the occasional catarrhal cough 
of the New-England coast struggled, as the 
only effort of nature not wholly repressed, 
came from its heavily-curtained recesses ; for 
the occasion of the evening had been the 
reception and entertainment of various distin- 
guished persons, and, as had been epigram- 
matically expressed by one of the guests, “ the 
history of the country ’ ’ was taking its leave 
in phrases more or less memorable and char- 
acteristic. Some of these valedictory axioms 
were clever, some witty, a few profound, but 
alwa} T s left as a genteel contribution to the en- 
tertainer. Some had been already prepared, 
and, like a card, had served and identified the 
guest at other mansions. 

The last guest departed, the last carriage 
rolled awajr, when the servant ventured to in- 
dicate the existence of the despatch to his 
master, who was standing on the hearth-rug 
in an attitude of wearied self-righteousness. 
He took it, opened it, read it, re-read it, and 
said, — 

“There must be some mistake! It is not 
for me. Call the boy, Waters.” 


THE GREAT DEADWOOD MYSTERY . 147 

Waters, who was perfectly aware that the 
boy had left, nevertheless obediently walked 
towards the hall-door, but was recalled by his 
master. 

44 No matter — at present ! ” 

44 It’s nothing serious, William ?’* asked 
Mrs. Rightbody, with languid wifely concern. 

44 No, nothing. Is there a light in my 
study? ” 

44 Yes. But, before } t ou go, can you give 
me a moment or two ? ’ ’ 

Mr. Rightbody turned a little impatiently 
towards his wife. She had thrown herself 
languidly on the sofa ; her hair was slightly 
disarranged, and part of a slippered foot was 
visible. She might have been a finely-formed 
woman ; but even her careless deshabille left 
the general impression that she was severely 
flannelled throughout, and that any ostentation 
of womanly charm was under vigorous sanitary 
surveillance. 

44 Mrs. Marvin told me to-night that her son 
made no secret of his serious attachment for 
our Alice, and that, if I was satisfied, Mr. 
Marvin would be glad to confer with you at 
once.” 


148 THE GREA T DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

The information did not seem to absorb Mr. 
Rightbody’s wandering attention, but rather 
increased his impatience. He said hastily, 
that he would speak of that to-morrow ; and 
partly by way of reprisal, and partly to dis- 
miss the subject, added — 

44 Positively James must pa} T some attention 
to the register and the thermometer. It was 
over 70° to-night, and the ventilating draught 
was closed in the drawing-room. ” 

44 That was because Professor Ammon sat 
near it, and the old gentleman’s tonsils are so 
sensitive.” 

44 He ought to know from Dr. D}er Doit 
that systematic and regular exposure to 
draughts stimulates the mucous membrane ; 
while fixed air over 60° invariably ” — 

44 1 am afraid, William,” interrupted Mrs. 
Rightbody, with feminine adroitness, adopting 
her husband’s topic with a view of thereby 
directing him from it, — 44 I’m afraid that 
people do not }’et appreciate the substitution 
of bouillon for punch and ices. I observed 
that Mr. Spondee declined it, and, I fancied, 
looked disappointed. The fibrine and wheat in 
liqueur-glasses passed quite unnoticed too.” 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 149 

“ And yet each half-drachm contained the 
half-digested substance of a pound of beef. 
I’m surprised at Spondee!” continued Mr. 
Rightbody aggrievedly. “Exhausting his 
brain and nerve force by the highest creative 
efforts of the Muse, he prefers perfumed and 
diluted alcohol flavored with carbonic acid 
gas. Even Mrs. Faringway admitted to me 
that the sudden lowering of the temperature 
of the stomach hy the introduction of ice ” — 
“ Yes ; but she took a lemon ice at the last 
Dorothea Reception, and asked me if I had 
observed that the lower animals refused their 
food at a temperature over 60°. ” 

Mr. Rightbody again moved impatiently 
towards the door. Mrs. Rightbody eyed him 
curiously. 

“ You will not write, I hope? Dr. Keppler 
told me to-night that your cerebral s} T mptoms 
interdicted any prolonged mental strain.” 

u I must consult a few papers,” responded 
Mr. Rightbody curtly, as he entered his 
library. . 

It was a richly-furnished apartment, mor- 
bidly severe in its decorations, which were 


150 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

symptomatic of a gloomy dyspepsia of art, 
then quite prevalent. A few curios, very 
ugly, but providentially equally rare, were 
scattered about. There were various bronzes, 
marbles, and casts, all requiring explanation, 
and so fulfilling their purpose of promoting 
conversation, and exhibiting the erudition of 
their owner. There were souvenirs of travel 
with a history, old bric-a-brac with a pedigree, 
but little or nothing that challenged attention 
for itself alone. In all cases the superiority 
of the owner to his possessions was admitted. 
As a natural result, nobody ever lingered 
there, the servants avoided the room, and no 
child was ever known to play in it. 

Mr. Rightbody turned up the gas, and from 
a cabinet of drawers, precisely labelled, drew 
a package of letters. These he carefully ex- 
amined. All were discolored, and made dig- 
nified by age ; but some, in their original 
freshness, must have appeared trifling, and 
inconsistent with any correspondent of Mr. 
Rightbody. Nevertheless, that gentleman 
spent some moments in carefully perusing 
them, occasionally referring to the telegram 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 151 


in his hand. Suddenly there was a knock at 
the door. Mr. Rightbody started, made a 
half-unconscious movement to return the let- 
ters to the drawer, turned the telegram face 
downwards, and then, somewhat harshly, 
stammered, — 

“ Eh? Who’s there? Come in.” 

“ I beg your pardon, papa,” said a very 
pretty girl, entering, without, however, the 
slightest trace of apology or awe in her man- 
ner, and taking a chair with the self-posses- 
sion and familiarity of an habitue of the room ; 
“but I knew it was not your habit to write 
late, so I supposed you were not busy. I am 
on my way to bed.” 

She was so ve^ pretty, and withal so 
utterly unconscious of it, or perhaps so con- 
sciously superior to it, that one was provoked 
into a more critical examination of her face. 
But this only resulted in a reiteration of her 
beauty, and perhaps the added facts that her 
dark eyes were very womanly, her rich com- 
plexion eloquent, and her chiselled lips full 
enough to be passionate or capricious, not- 
withstanding that their general effect suggested 


152 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

neither caprice, womanly weakness, nor pas- 
sion. 

With the instinct of an embarrassed man, 
Mr. Rightbody touched the topic he would 
have preferred to avoid. 

“ I suppose we must talk over to-morrow,” 
he hesitated, “ this matter of yours and Mr. 
Marvin’s? Mrs. Marvin has formally spoken 
to your mother.” 

Miss Alice lifted her bright eyes intelli- 
gently, but not joy full}* ; and the color of 
action, rather than embarrassment, rose to her 
round cheeks. 

“Yes, lie said she would,” she answered 
simply. 

“At present,” continued Mr. Rightbody 
still awkwardly, “ I see no objection to the 
proposed arrangement . ’ ’ 

Miss Alice opened her round eyes at this. 
“ Why, papa, I thought it had been all settled 
long ago ! Mamma knew it, you knew it. 
Last July, mamma and you talked it over.” 

“Yes, yes,” returned her father, fumbling 
his papers ; “ that is — well, we will talk of it 
to-morrow.” In fact, Mr. Rightbody had 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 153 

intended to give the affair a proper attitude of 
seriousness and solemnit}” by due precision of 
speech, and some apposite reflections, when he 
should impart the news to his daughter, but 
felt himself unable to do it now. “Iam glad, 
Alice,” he said at last, “ that } r ou have quite 
forgotten your previous whims and fancies. 
You see we are right.” 

“Oh! I dare say, papa, if I’m to be mar- 
ried at all, that Mr. Marvin is in every wa} x 
suitable.” 

Mr. Rightbody looked at his daughter nar- 
rowly. There was not the slightest impatience 
nor bitterness in her manner : it was as well 
regulated as the sentiment she expressed. 

“ Mr. Marvin is ” — he began. 

“ I know what Mr. Marvin is,” interrupted 
Miss Alice; “and he has promised me that 
I shall be allowed to go on with my studies 
the same as before. I shall graduate with my 
class ; and, if I prefer to practise my profes- 
sion, I can do so in two years after our mar- 
riage.” 

“In two years?” queried Mr. Rightbody 
curiously. 


154 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

“Yes. You see, in case we should have a 
child, that would give me time enough to wean 
it.” 

Mr. Rightbody looked at this flesh of his 
flesh, pretty and palpable flesh as it was ; but, 
being confronted as equally with the brain of 
his brain, all he could do was to say meekly, — 

“ Yes, certainty. We will see about all 
that to-morrow.” 

Miss Alice rose. Something in the free, 
unfettered swing of her arms as she rested 
them lightly, after a half yawn, on her lithe 
hips, suggested his next speech, although still 
distrait and impatient. 

“You continue your exercise with the health- 
lift yet, I see.” 

“ Yes, papa ; but I had to give up the flan- 
nels. I don’t see how mamma could wear 
them. But my dresses are high-necked, and 
by bathing I toughen my skin. See!” she 
added, as, with a child-like unconsciousness, 
she unfastened two or three buttons of her 
gown, and exposed the white surface of her 
throat and neck to her father, ‘ 1 1 can defy a 
chill.” 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 155 

Mr. Rightbody, with something akin to a 
genuine playful, paternal laugh, leaned for- 
ward, and kissed her forehead. 

“ It’s getting late, Ally,” he said parental- 
ly, but not dictatorially. “ Go to bed.” 

“I took a nap of three hours this after- 
noon,” said Miss Alice, with a dazzling smile, 
“ to anticipate this dissipation. Good-night, 
papa. To-morrow, then.” 

“To-morrow,” repeated Mr. Rightbody, 
with his eyes still fixed upon the girl vaguely. 
“ Good-night.” 

Miss Alice tripped from the room, possibly 
a trifle the more light-heartedly that she had 
parted from her father in one of his rare 
moments of illogical human weakness. And 
perhaps it was well for the poor girl that she 
kept this single remembrance of him, when, I 
fear, in after-} T ears, his methods, his reason- 
ing, and indeed all he had tried to impress 
upon her childhood, had faded from her 
memory. 

For, when she had left, Mr. Rightbody fell 
again to the examination of his old letters. 
This was quite absorbing ; so much so, that 


156 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

he did not notice the footsteps of Mrs. Right- 
body on the staircase as she passed to her 
chamber, nor that she had paused on the 
landing to look through the glass half-door on 
her husband, as he sat there with the letters 
beside him, and the telegram opened before 
him. Had she waited a moment later, she 
would have seen him rise, and walk to the 
sofa with a disturbed air and a slight con- 
fusion ; so that, on reaching it, he seemed to 
hesitate to lie down, although pale and evi- 
dently faint. Had she still waited, she would 
have seen him rise again with an agonized 
effort, stagger to the table, fumblingly refold 
and replace the papers in the cabinet, and 
lock it, and, although now but half- conscious, 
hold the telegram over the gas-flame till it 
was consumed. For, had she waited until 
this moment, she would have flown unhesi- 
tating] y to his aid, as, this act completed, he 
staggered again, reached his hand toward the 
bell, but vainly, and then fell prone upon the 
sofa. 

But alas ! no providential nor accidental 
hand was raised to save him, or anticipate the 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 157 
• 

progress of this story. And when, half an 
hour later, Mrs. Rightbody, a little alarmed, 
and more indignant at his violation of the 
doctor’s rules, appeared upon the threshold, 
Mr. Rightbody lay upon the sofa, dead ! 

With bustle, with thronging feet, with the 
irruption of strangers, and a hurrying to and 
fro, but, more than all, with an impulse and 
emotion unknown to the mansion when its 
owner was in life, Mrs. Rightbody strove to 
call back the vanished life, but in vain. The 
highest medical intelligence, called from its 
bed at this strange hour, saw only the demon- 
stration of its theories made a year before. 
Mr. Rightbody was dead — without doubt, with- 
out mj'steiy, even as a correct man should die 
— logicalty, and indorsed by the highest medi- 
cal authority. 

But, even in the confusion, Mrs. Rightbody 
managed to speed a messenger to the tele- 
graph-office for a copy of the despatch received 
by Mr. Rightbody, but now missing. 

In the solitude of her own room, and with- 
out a confidant, she read these words : — 


158 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

“ [Copy.] 

“To Mr. Adams Rightbody, Boston, Mass. 

“ Joshua Silsbie died suddenly this morning. His 
last request was that you should remember your 
sacred compact with him of thirty years ago. 

(Signed) “ Seventy-Four. 

“ Seventy-Five.” 

In the darkened home, and amid the formal 
condolements of their friends who had called to 
gaze upon the scarcely cold features of their 
late associate, Mrs. Rightbody managed to 
send another despatch. It was addressed to 
“ Seventy-Four and Seventy-Five,” Cotton- 
wood. In a few hours she received the follow- 
ing enigmatical response : — 

“ A horse-thief named Josh Silsbie was 
lynched yesterday morning by the Vigilantes 
at Deadwood.” 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 159 


PART n. 

The spring of 1874 was retarded in the 
Californian sierras ; so much so, that certain 
Eastern tourists who had early ventured into 
the Yo Semite Valley found themselves, one 
May morning, snow-bound against the tem- 
pestuous shoulders of El Capitan. So furious 
w^as the onset of the wind at the Upper 
Merced Canon, that even so respectable a lady 
as Mrs. Rightbod}^ was fain to cling to the 
neck of her guide to keep her seat in the 
saddle ; while Miss Alice, scorning all mas- 
culine. assistance, was hurled, a lovely chaos, 
against the snowy wall of the chasm. Mrs. 
Rightbody screamed ; Miss Alice raged under 
her breath, but scrambled to her feet again 
in silence. 

“ I told you so! ” said Mrs. Rightbody, in 
an indignant whisper, as her daughter again 
ranged beside her. “ I warned you espe- 
cially, Alice — that — that ’ ’ — 


160 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 


44 What?” interrupted Miss Alice curtly. 

4 4 That you would need your chemiloons and 
high boots,” said Mrs. Riglitbody, in a regret- 
ful undertone, slightly increasing her distance 
from the guides. 

Miss Alice shrugged her pretty shoulders 
scornfully, but ignored her mother’s implica- 
tion. 

44 You were particularly warned against 
going into the valley at this season,” she only 
replied grimly. 

Mrs. Rightbody raised her e} r es impatientl}'. 

44 You know how anxious I was to discover 
your poor father’s strange correspondent, 
Alice. You have no consideration.” 

44 But when you have discovered him — what 
then? ” queried Miss Alice. 

44 What then?” 

44 Yes. My belief is, that you will find the 
telegram only a mere business cipher, and all 
this quest mere nonsense.” 

44 Alice! Why, you }’Ourself thought your 
father’s conduct that night very strange. 
Have you forgotten ? ’ ’ 

The young lady had not , but, for some far- 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 161 

reaching feminine reason, chose to ignore it 
at that moment, when her late tumble in the 
snow was still fresh in lier mind. 

“And this woman, whoever she may be ” — 
continued Mrs. Rightbody. 

44 How do you know there’s a woman in the 
case?” interrupted Miss Alice, wickedly I 
fear. 

4 4 Plow do — I — know — there’s a woman ? ’ ’ 
slowly ejaculated Mrs. Rightbody, floundering 
in the snow and the unexpected possibility 
of such a ridiculous question. But here her 
guide flew to her assistance, and estopped 
further speech. And, indeed, a grave problem 
was before them. 

The road that led to their single place of 
refuge — a cabin, half hotel, half trading-post, 
scarce a mile away — skirted the base of the 
rock} T dome, and passed perilously near the 
precipitous wall of the valley. There was a 
rapid descent of a hundred }’ards or more 
to this terrace-like passage ; and the guides 
paused for a moment of consultation, coolly 
oblivious, alike to the terrified questioning of 
Mrs. Rightbody, or the half-insolent independ- 


162 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

ence of the daughter. The elder guide was 
russet-bearded, stout, and humorous : the 
younger was dark-bearded, slight, and serious. 

“ Ef you kin git young Bunker Hill to let 
you tote her on your shoulders, I’ll git the 
Madam to hang on to me,” came to Mrs. 
Rightbody’s horrified ears as the expression 
of her particular companion. 

u Freeze to the old gal, and don’t reckon on 
me if the daughter starts in to play it alone,” 
was the enigmatical response of the younger 
guide. 

Miss Alice overheard both propositions ; 
and, before the two men returned to their side, 
that high-spirited young lady had urged her 
horse down the declivity. 

Alas ! at this moment a gust of whirling 
snow swept down upon her. There was a 
flounder, a mis-step, a fatal strain on the 
wrong rein, a fall, a few plucky but unavailing 
struggles, and both horse and rider slid igno- 
miniously down toward the rocky shelf. Mrs. 
Rightbody screamed. Miss Alice, from a con- 
fused debris of snow and ice, uplifted a vexed 
and coloring face to the younger guide, a little 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 163 


the more angrily, perhaps, that she saw a shade 
of impatience on his face. 

“ Don’t move, but tie one end of the ‘ lass * 
under your arms, and throw me the other,” 
he said quietly. 

“ What do you mean by ‘lass’ — the 
lasso? ” asked Miss Alice disgustedly. 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

u Then why don’t you say so? ” 

“ O Alice ! ” reproachfully interpolated Mrs. 
Rightbody, encircled by the elder guide’s 
stalwart arm. 

Miss Alice deigned no reply, but drew the 
loop of the lasso over her shoulders, and let 
it drop to her round waist. Then she essa}ed 
to throw the other end to her guide. Dismal 
failure ! The first fling nearly knocked her off 
the ledge ; the second went all wild against the 
rock}" wall ; the third caught in a thorn-bush, 
twenty feet below her companion’s feet. Miss 
Alice’s arm sunk helplessly to her side, at 
which signal of unqualified surrender, the 
younger guide threw himself half wa} T down 
the slope, worked his way to the thorn-bush, 
hung for a moment perilously over the para- 


164 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY . 

pet, secured the lasso, and then began to pull 
away at his lovely burden. Miss Alice was no 
dead weight, however, but steadily half-scram- 
bled on her hands and knees to within a foot 
or two of her rescuer. At this too familiar 
proximity, she stood up, and leaned a little 
stiffly against the line, causing the guide to 
give an extra pull, which had the lamentable 
effect of landing her almost in his arms. As 
it was, her intelligent forehead struck his nose 
sharply, and I regret to add, treating of a 
romantic situation, caused that somewhat 
prominent sign and token of a hero to bleed 
freely. Miss Alice instantly clapped a handful 
of snow over his nostrils. 

“Now elevate your right arm,” she said 
commanding^. 

He did as he was bidden, but sulkily. 

“ That compresses the artery.” 

No man, with a pretty woman’s hand and 
a handful of snow over his mouth and nose, 
could effectively utter a heroic sentence, nor, 
with his arm elevated stiffly over his head, 
assume a heroic attitude. But, when his mouth 
was free again, he said half-sulkily, half-apolo* 
getically, — 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 165 

“ I might have known a girl couldn’t throw 
worth $ cent.” 

“ Why? ” demanded Miss Alice sharply. 

“ Because — why — because — 3’ou see — • 
they haven’t got the experience,” he stam- 
mered feebly. 

“Nonsense! they haven’t the clavicle — 1 
that’s all ! It’s because I’m a woman, and 
smaller in the collar-bone, that I haven’t the 
play of the fore-arm which you have. See ! ” 
She squared her shoulders slightly, and turned 
the blaze of her dark eyes full on his. “ Ex- 
perience, indeed ! A girl can learn any thing 
a boy can.” 

Apprehension took the place of ill-humor 
in her hearer. He turned his eyes hastily 
away, and glanced above him. The elder 
guide had gone forward to catch Miss Alice’s 
horse, which, relieved of his rider, was floun- 
dering toward the trail. Mrs. Rightbody was 
nowhere to be seen. And these two were still 
twenty feet below the trail ! 

There was an awkward pause. 

“ Shall I pull you up the same way? ” he 
queried. Miss Alice looked at his nose, and 


166 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

hesitated. “ Or will you take my hand?” 
he added in surly impatience. To his sur- 
prise, Miss Alice took his hand, and they 
began the ascent together. 

But the way was difficult and dangerous. 
Once or twice her feet slipped on the smoothly- 
worn rock beneath ; and she confessed to an 
inward thankfulness when her uncertain femi- 
nine hand-grip was exchanged for his strong 
arm around her waist. Not that he was un- 
gentle ; but Miss Alice angrily felt that he had 
once or twice exercised his superior masculine 
functions in a rough way ; and yet the next 
moment she would have probably rejected the 
idea that she had even noticed it. There was 
no doubt, however, that he was a little surly. 

A fierce scramble finally brought them back 
in safety to the trail ; but in the action Miss 
Alice’s shoulder, striking a projecting bowlder, 
wrung from her a feminine cry of pain, her 
first sign of womanly weakness. The guide 
stopped instantly. 

“Iam afraid I hurt you? ” 

She raised her brown lashes, a trifle moist 
from suffering, looked in his eyes, and dropped 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 167 

her own. Wh} T , she could not tell. And yet 
he had certainly a kind face, despite its seri- 
ousness ; and a fine face, albeit unshorn and 
weather-beaten. Her own eyes had never 
been so near to any man’s before, save her 
lover’s ; and 3 r et she had never seen so much 
in even his. She slipped her hand away, not 
with any reference to him, but rather to ponder 
over this singular experience, and somehow 
felt uncomfortable thereat. 

Nor was he less so. It was but a few days 
ago that he had accepted the charge of this 
young woman from the elder guide, who w T as 
the recognized escort of the Rightbody party, 
having been a former correspondent of her 
father’s. He had been hired like any other 
guide, but had undertaken the task with that 
chivalrous enthusiasm which the average Cali- 
fornian always extends to the sex so rare to 
him. But the illusion had passed ; and he had 
dropped into a sulky, practical sense of his 
situation, perhaps fraught with less danger to 
himself. Only when appealed to by his man- 
hood or her weakness, he had forgotten his 
wounded vanity. 


168 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY . 

He strode moodily ahead, dutifully breaking 
the path for her in the direction of the distant 
canon, where Mrs. Rightbody and her friend 
awaited them. Miss Alice was first to speak. 
In this trackless, uncharted terra incognita of 
the passions, it is always the woman who steps 
out to lead the way. 

44 You know this place very well. I suppose 
you have lived here long? ” 

44 Yes.” 

44 You were not born here — no ? ” 

A long pause. 

44 1 observe they call you 4 Stanislaus Joe/ 
Of course that is not your real name?” 
(Mem. — Miss Alice had never called him 
any thing , usually prefacing any request with a 
languid, 44 O-er-er, please, mister-er-a ! ” ex- 
plicit enough for his station.) 

44 No.” 

Miss Alice (trotting after him, and bawhng 
in his ear) . — 44 What name did you say? ” 

The Man (doggedly). — 44 1 don’t know.” 

Nevertheless, when they reached the cabin, 
after an half-hour’s buffeting with the storm, 
Miss Alice applied herself to her mother’s 
escort, Mr. Ryder. 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 169 

“ What’s the name of the man who takes 
care of my horse? ” 

“ Stanislaus Joe,” responded Mr. Ryder. 

“Is that all?” 

“ No. Sometimes he’s called Joe Stanis- 
laus.” 

Miss Alice (satirically). — “I suppose it’s 
the custom here to send young ladies out with 
gentlemen who hide their names under an 
alias ? ” 

Mr. Ryder (greatly perplexed). — “Why, 
dear me, Miss Alice, you allers ’peared to me 
as a gal as was able to take keer ” — 

Miss Alice (interrupting with a wounded, 
dove-like timidity). — “Oh, never mind, 
please ! ” 

The cabin offered but scanty accommodation 
to the tourists ; which fact, when indignantly 
presented by Mrs. Rightbody, was explained 
by the good-humored Ryder from the circum- 
stance that the usual hotel was only a slight 
affair of boards, cloth, and paper, put up 
during the season, and partly dismantled in 
the fall. “ You couldn’t be kept warm enough 
there,” he added. Nevertheless Miss Alice 


170 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

noticed that both Mr. Ryder and Stanislaus 
Joe retired there with their pipes, after having 
prepared the ladies’ supper, with the assistance 
of an Indian woman, who apparently emerged 
from the earth at the coming of the party, and 
disappeared as mysteriously. 

The stars came out brightly before they 
slept ; and the next morning a clear, unwink- 
ing sun beamed with almost summer power 
through the shutterless window of their cabin, 
and ironically disclosed the details of its rude 
interior. Two or three mang} T , half-eaten 
buffalo-robes, a bear-skin, some suspicious- 
looking blankets, rifles and saddles, deal-tables, 
„and barrels, made up its scant inventory. A 
strip of faded calico hung before a recess near 
the chimney, but so blackened by smoke and 
age that even feminine curiosit} T respected its 
secret. Mrs. Rightbody was in high spirits, 
and informed her daughter that she was at 
last on the track of her husband’s unknown 
correspondent. “ Seventy-Four and Seventy- 
Five represent two members of the Vigilance 
Committee, my dear, and Mr. Ryder will 
assist me to find them.” 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 171 


“Mr. Ryder!” ejaculated Miss Alice, in 
scornful astonishment. 

“ Alice,” said Mrs. Rightbody, with a sus- 
picious assumption of sudden defence, “you 
injure yourself, you injure me, by this exclu- 
sive attitude. Mr. R} r der is a friend of } T our 
father’s, an exceeding!}' well-informed gentle- 
man. I have not, of course, imparted to him 
the extent of my suspicions. But he can help 
me to what I must and will know. You might 
treat him a little more civilly — or, at least, a 
little better than you do his servant, your 
guide. Mr. Ryder is a gentleman, and not a 
paid courier.” 

Miss Alice was suddenly attentive. When 
she spoke again, she asked, “Why do you 
not find something about this Silsbie — who 
died — or was hung — or something of that 
kind? ” 

“Child!” said Mrs. Rightbody, “don’t 
you see there was no Silsbie, or, if there was, 
he was simply the confidant of that — wo- 
man? ” 

A knock at the door, announcing the pres- 
ence of Mr. Ryder and Stanislaus Joe with 


172 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

the horses, checked Mrs. Rightbody’s speech. 
As the animals were being packed, Mrs. 
Rightbody for a moment withdrew in confi- 
dential conversation with Mr. R} T der, and, to 
the young lady’s still greater anno} 7 ance, left 
her alone with Stanislaus Joe. Miss Alice 
was not in good temper, but she felt it neces- 
sar} 7 to say something. 

“ I hope the hotel offers better quarters for 
travellers than this in summer,” she began. 

“ It does.” 

“ Then this does not belong to it? ” 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“ Who lives here, then? ” 

“ I do.” 

“I beg your pardon,” stammered Miss 
Alice, “ I thought you lived where we hired — 
where we met you — in — in — You must 
excuse me.” 

“ I’m not a regular guide ; but as times were 
hard, and I was out of grub, I took the job.” 

“Out of grub!” “job!” And she was 
the “job.” What would Henry Marvin say? 
It would nearly kill him. She began herself 
to feel a little frightened, and walked towards 
the door. 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 173 

“ One moment, miss ! ” 

The young girl hesitated. The man’s tone 
was surly, and yet indicated a certain kind of 
half-pathetic grievance. Her curiosity got the 
better of her prudence, and she turned back. 

“This morning,” he began hastily, “when 
we were coming down the valley, you picked 
me up twice.” 

“I picked you up?” repeated the aston- 
ished Alice. 

“Yes, contradicted me : that’s what I 
mean, — once when you said those rocks were 
volcanic, once when you said the flower you 
picked was a poppy. I didn’t let on at the 
time, for it wasn’t my say ; but all the while 
you were talking I might have laid for you ” — 

“ I don’t understand you,” said Alice 
haughtily. 

“ I might have entrapped you before folks. 
But I only want you to know that 7’m right, 
and here are the books to show it.” 

He drew aside the ding}" calico curtain, 
revealed a small shelf of bulky books, took 
down two large volumes, — one of botany, one 
of geology, — nervously sought his text, and 
put them in Alice’s outstretched hands. 


174 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

“I had no intention” — she began, half- 
proudly, half-embarrassedly. 

“ Am I right, miss? ” he interrupted. 

“ I presume you are, if you say so.” 

“ That’s all, ma’am. Thank you ! ” 

Before the girl had time to reply, he was 
gone. When he again returned, it was with 
her horse, and Mrs. Rightbody and Ryder 
were awaiting her. But Miss Alice noticed 
that his own horse was missing. 

“ Are } 7 ou not going with us? ” she asked. 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” 

Miss Alice felt her speech was a feeble con- 
ventionalism ; but it was all she could say. 
She, however, did something. Hitherto it 
had been her habit to systematically reject his 
assistance in mounting to her seat. Now she 
awaited him. As he approached, she smiled, 
and put out her little foot. He instantly 
stooped ; she placed it in his hand, rose with 
a spring, and for one supreme moment Stanis- 
laus Joe held her unresistingly in his arms. 
The next moment she was in the saddle ; but 
in that brief interval of sixt} T seconds she had 
uttered a volume in a single sentence, — 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 175 

“ I hope you will forgive me!” 

He muttered a reply, and turned his face 
aside quickly as if to hide it. 

Miss Alice cantered forward with a smile, 
but pulled her hat down over her eyes as she 
joined her mother. She was blushing. 


176 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 


PART m. 

Mr. Ryder was as good as his word. A 
day or two later he entered Mrs. Rightbody’s 
parlor at the Chrysopolis Hotel in Stockton, 
with the information that he had seen the 
mysterious senders of the despatch, and that 
they were now in the office of the hotel waiting 
her pleasure. Mr. Ryder further informed her 
that these gentlemen had only stipulated that 
they should not reveal their real names, and 
that they should be introduced to her simply 
as the respective “ Seventy-Four ” and “ Sev- 
enty-Five * ’ who had signed the despatch sent 
to the late Mr. Rightbody. 

Mrs. Rightbody at first demurred to this ; 
but, on the assurance from Mr. Ryder that 
this was the onty condition on which an inter- 
view would be granted, finally consented. 

“You will find them square men, even if 
they are a little rough, ma’am. But, if you’d 
like me to be present, I’ll stop ; though I 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 177 

reckon, if ye’d calkilated on that, you’d have 
had me take care o’ your business b}' proxy, 
and not come yourself three thousand miles 
to do it.” 

Mrs. Rightbody believed it better to see 
them alone. 

“All right, ma’am. I’ll hang round out 
here ; and ef ye should happen to hev a tick- 
lin’ in your throat, and a bad spell o’ coughin’, 
I’ll drop in, careless like, to see if you don’t 
want them drops. Sabe ? ” 

And with an exceedingly arch wink, and a 
slight familiar tap on Mrs. Rightbody’ s shoul- 
der, which might have caused the late Mr. 
Rightbody to burst his sepulchre, he withdrew. 

A very timid, hesitating tap on the door 
was followed by the entrance of two men, 
both of whom, in general size, strength, and 
uncouthness, were ludicrously inconsistent 
with their diffident announcement. The} r pro- 
ceeded in Indian file to the centre of the room, 
faced Mrs. Rightbody, acknowledged her deep 
courtesy by a strong shake of the hand, and, 
drawing two chairs opposite to her, sat down 
side by side. 


178 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

44 I presume I have the pleasure of address- 
ing ” — began Mrs. Rightbody. 

The man directly opposite Mrs. Rightbody 
turned to the other inquiringly. 

The other man nodded his head, and re- 
plied, — 

4 4 Seventy-Four.” 

44 Seventy-Five,” promptly followed the 
other. 

Mrs. Rightbody paused, a little confused. 

44 1 have sent for you,” she began again, 
44 to learn something more of the circumstances 
under which you gentlemen sent a despatch to 
my late husband.” 

44 The circumstances,” replied Seventy-Four 
quietly, with a side-glance at his companion, 
44 panned out about in this yer style. We 
hung a man named Josh Silsbie, down at 
Deadwood, for hoss-stealin’. When I say we, 
I speak for Seventy-Five yer as is present, 
as well as representin’, so to speak, sevent}'- 
two other gents as is scattered. We hung 
Josh Silsbie on squar, pretty squar, evidence. 
Afore he was strung up, Seventy-Five yer 
axed him, accordin’ to custom, ef ther was 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 179 

enny thing he had to say, or enny request 
that he allowed to make of us. He turns to 
Seventy-Five yer, and ’ ’ — 

Here he paused suddenly, looking at his 
companion. 

“He sez, sez he,” began Seventy-Five, 
taking up the narrative, — “he sez, ‘Kin I 
write a letter?’ sez he. Sez I, 4 Not much, 
ole man: ye’ve got no time.’ Sez he, ‘Kin 
I send a despatch by telegraph?’ I sez, 
‘Heave ahead.’ He sez, — these is his dien- 
tikal words, — ‘ Send to Adam Kightbody, 
Boston. Tell him to remember his sacred 
compack with me thirty years ago.’ ” 

“ ‘ His sacred compack with me thirty } r ears 
ago,’ ” echoed Seventy-Four, — “ his dientikal 
words.” 

“What was the compact?” asked Mrs. 
Kightbody anxiously. 

Seventy-Four looked at Seventy-Five, and 
then both arose, and retired to the corner of 
the parlor, where they engaged in a slow but 
whispered deliberation. Presently they re- 
turned, and sat down again. 

“We allow,” said Seventy-Four, quietly 


180 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

but decided^, “that you know what that 
sacred compact was.” 

Mrs. Riglitbody lost her temper and her 
truthfulness together. “ Of course,” she said 
hurriedly, “ I know. But do you mean to say 
that you gave this poor man no further chance 
to explain before you murdered him? ” 

Seventy-Four and Seventy-Five both rose 
again slowly, and retired. When they re- 
turned again, and sat down, Seventy-Five, 
who by this time, through some subtle mag- 
netism, Mrs. Rightbody began to recognize as 
the superior power, said gravely, — 

“We wish to say, regarding this yer mur- 
der, that Seventy-Four and me is equally 
responsible ; that we reckon also to repre- 
sent, so to speak, seventy-two other gentlemen 
as is scattered ; that we are ready, Seventy- 
Four and me, to take and holt that responsi- 
bility, now and at an} T time, afore every man 
or men as kin be fetched agin us. We wish 
to say that this yer say of ours holds good yei 
in Californy, or in any part of these United 
States.” 

“ Or in Canady,” suggested Seventy-Four. 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 181 

“Or in Canady. We wouldn’t agree to 
cross the water, or go to furrin parts, unless 
absolutely necessary. We leaves the chise of 
weppings to your principal, ma’am, or being 
a lady, ma’am, and interested, to an}' one you 
may fetch to act for him. An advertisement 
in any of the Sacramento papers, or a play- 
card or handbill stuck unto a tree near Dead- 
wood, saying that Seventy-Four or Seventy- 
Five will communicate with this yer principal 
or agent of yours, will fetch us — allers.” 

Mrs. Rightbody, a little alarmed and des- 
perate, saw her blunder. “ I mean nothing 
of the kind,” she said hastily. “I only ex- 
pected that you might have some further 
details of this interview with Silsbie ; that 
perhaps you could tell me” — a bold, bright 
thought crossed Mrs. Rightbody’s mind — 
“something more about her.” 

The two men looked at each other. 

“I suppose your society have no objection 
to giving me information about her,” said 
Mrs. Rightbody eagerly. 

Another quiet conversation in the corner, 
and the return of both men. 


182 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

“We want to say that we’ve no objection.” 

Mrs. Rightbody’ s heart beat high. Her 
boldness had made her penetration good. Yet 
she felt she must not alarm the men heed- 
lessly. 

“Will you inform me to what extent Mr. 
Rightbody, my late husband, was interested 
in her?” 

This time it seemed an age to Mrs. Right- 
body before the men returned from their sol- 
emn consultation in the corner. She could 
both hear and feel that their discussion was 
more animated than their previous conferences. 
She was a little mortified, however, when they 
sat down, to hear Seventy-Four say slowly, — 

“We wish to say that we don’t allow to 
say how much.” 

“ Do you not think that the 4 sacred com- 
pact ’ between Mr. Rightbody and Mr. Silsbie 
referred to her? ” 

44 We reckon it do.” 

Mrs. Rightbody, flushed and animated, 
would have given worlds had her daughter 
been present to hear this undoubted confir- 
mation of her theory. Yet she felt a little 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 183 

nervous and uncomfortable even on this 
threshold of discovery. 

“ Is she here now? ” 

“ She’s in Tuolumne,” said Seventy-Four. 

“ A little better looked arter than formerly,” 
added Seventy-Five. 

“I see. Then Mr. Silsbie enticed her 
away? ” 

“ Well, ma’am, it was allowed as she runned 
away. But it wasn’t proved, and it generally 
wasn’t her style.” 

Mrs. Rightbody trifled with her next ques- 
tion. “ She was pretty, of course? ” 

The eyes of both men brightened. 

“She was that /” said Seventy-Four em- 
phatically. 

“ It would have done you good to see her ! ” 
added Seventy-Five. 

Mrs. Rightbody inwardly doubted it ; but, 
before she could ask another question, the two 
men again retired to the corner for consulta- 
tion. When they came back, there was a 
shade more of kindliness and confidence in 
their manner ; and Seventy-Four opened his 
mind more freely. 


184 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 


44 We wish to sa}^, ma’am, looking at the 
thing, by and large, in a far-minded way, 
that, ez you seem interested, and ez Mr. 
Rightbod} T was interested, and was, according 
to all accounts, deceived and led away by 
Silsbie, that we don’t mind listening to any 
proposition you might make, as a lady — al- 
lowin’ you was ekally interested.” 

“I understand,” said Mrs. Rightbody 
quickly. 44 And you will furnish me with any 
papers ? ’ ’ 

The two men again consulted. 

“We wish to saj T , ma’am, that we think 
she’s got papers, but” — 

“I must have them, you understand,” in- 
terrupted Mrs. Rightbody, 44 at any price.” 

44 We was about to say, ma’am,” said Sev- 
enty-Five slowly , 44 that, considerin’ all things, 
— and you being a lady — you kin have Zier, 
papers, pedigree, and guaranty, for twelve 
hundred dollars.” 

It has been alleged that, Mrs. Rightbody 
asked only one question more, and then 
fainted. It is known, however, that by the 
next day it was understood in Deadwood that 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 185 

Mrs. Riglitbody had confessed to the Vigilance 
Committee that her husband, a celebrated 
Boston millionnaire, anxious to gain posses- 
sion of Abner Springer’s well-known sorrel 
mare, had incited the unfortunate Josh Silsbie 
to steal it ; and that finall} T , failing in this, the 
widow of the deceased Boston millionnaire 
was now in personal negotiation with the 
owners. 

Howbeit, Miss Alice, returning home that 
afternoon, found her mother with a violent 
headache. 

“We will leave here by the next steamer,” 
said Mrs. Rightbody languidly. “Mr. Ryder 
has promised to accompany us.” 

“ But, mother ” — 

“ The climate, Alice, is over-rated. My 
nerves are already suffering from it. The 
associations are unfit for you, and Mr. Marvin 
is naturally impatient.” 

Miss Alice colored slightly. 

“ But your quest, mother? ” 

“ I’ve abandoned it.” 

“But I have not,” said Alice quietly. 
“ Do you remember my guide at the Yo Semi- 


186 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

te, — Stanislaus Joe? Well, Stanislaus Joe is 
— who do you think ? * ’ 

Mrs. Rightbody was languidly indifferent. 

“ Well, Stanislaus Joe is the son of Joshua 
Silsbie.” 

Mrs. Rightbody sat upright in astonish- 
ment. 

“Yes. But, mother, he knows nothing of 
what we know. His father treated him 
shamefully, and set him cruelly adrift years 
ago ; and, when he was hung, the poor fellow, 
in sheer disgrace, changed his name.” 

“ But, if he knows nothing of his father’s 
compact, of what interest is this? ” 

“Oh, nothing! Onty I thought it might 
lead to something.” 

Mrs. Rightbody suspected that “ some- 
thing,” and asked sharply, “And pray how 
did you find it out? You did not speak of it 
in the valley.” 

“ Oh ! I didn’t find it out till to-day,” said 
Miss Alice, walking to the window. “ He 
happened to be here, and — told me.” 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 187 


PART IV. 

If Mrs. Rightbody’s friends had been 
astounded by her singular and unexpected pil- 
grimage to California so soon after her hus- 
band’s decease, they were still more astounded 
by the information, a year later, that she was 
engaged to be married to a Mr. Ryder, of 
whom only the scant history was known, that 
he was a Californian, and former correspond- 
ent of her husband. It was undeniable that 
the man was wealthy, and evidently no mere 
adventurer ; it was rumored that he was 
courageous and manly : but even those who 
delighted in his odd humor were shocked at 
his grammar and slang. It was said that Mr. 
Marvin had but one interview with his father- 
in-law elect, and returned so supremely dis- 
gusted, that the match was broken off. The 
horse-stealing story, more or less garbled, 
found its way through lips that pretended to 
decry it, yet eagerly repeated it. Only one 


188 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

member of the Rightbody family — and a new 
one — saved them from utter ostracism. It 
was young Mr. R}der, the adopted son of the 
prospective head of the household, whose cul- 
ture, manners, and general elegance, fascinated 
and thrilled Boston with a new sensation. It 
seemed to many that Miss Alice should, in the 
vicinity of this rare exotic, forget her former 
enthusiasm for a professional life ; but the 
3 r oung man was pitied by society, and various 
plans for diverting him from any mesalliance 
with the Rightbody family were concocted. 

It was a wintry night, and the second anni- 
versary of Mr. Rightbody ’s death, that a light 
was burning in his library. But the dead 
man’s chair was occupied by young Mr. 
Ryder, adopted son of the new proprietor of 
the mansion ; and before him stood Alice, with 
her dark eyes fixed on the table. 

“There must have been something in it, 
Joe, believe me. Did you never hear your 
father speak of mine?” 

“ Never.” 

“But you say he was college-bred, and 
born a gentleman, and in his youth he must 
have had many friends.” 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 189 

“ Alice,” said the young man gravely, 
“ when I have done something to redeem my 
name, and wear it again before these people, 
before you , it would be well to revive the past. 
But till then ” — 

But Alice was not to be put down. “I 
remember,” she went on, scarcely heeding 
him, “that, when I came in that night, papa 
was reading a letter, and seemed to be dis- 
concerted.” 

“A letter?” 

“Yes; but,” added Alice, with a sigh, 
“when we found him here insensible, there 
was no letter on his person. He must have 
destroyed it.” 

“ Did you ever look among his papers? If 
found, it might be a clew.” 

The young man glanced toward the cabinet. 
Alice read his ej'es, and answered, — 

“ Oh, dear, no ! The cabinet contained only 
his papers, all perfectly arranged, — you know 
how methodical were his habits, — and some 
old business and private letters, all carefully 
put away.” 

“Let us see them,” said the young man, 
rising. 


190 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

They opened drawer after drawer ; files 
upon files of letters and business papers, 
accurately folded and filed. Suddenly Alice 
uttered a little cry, and picked up a quaint 
ivory paper-knife lying at the bottom of a 
drawer. 

“It was missing the next day, and never 
could be found : he must have mislaid it here. 
This is the drawer,” said Alice eagerly. 

Here was a clew. But the lower part of 
the drawer was filled with old letters, not 
labelled, yet neatly arranged in files. Sud- 
denly he stopped, and said, “ Put them back, 
Alice, at once.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Some of these letters are in my father’s 
handwriting.” 

“ The more reason why/ should see them,” 
said the girl imperatively. “Here, you take 
part, and I’ll take part, and we’ll get through 
quicker.” 

There was a certain decision and independ- 
ence in her manner which he had learned to 
respect. He took the letters, and in silence 
read them with her. They were old college 


THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 191 

letters, so filled with boyish dreams, ambi- 
tions, aspirations, and Utopian theories, that 
I fear neither of these 3 T oung people even 
recognized their parents in the dead ashes of 
the past. They were both grave, until Alice 
uttered a little hysterical cry, and dropped her 
face in her hands. Joe was instantty beside 
her. 

“ It’s nothing, Joe, nothing. Don’t read it, 
please ; please, don’t. It’s so funny ! it’s so 
very queer ! ” 

But Joe had, after a slight, half-plajTul 
struggle, taken the letter from the girl. Then 
he read aloud the words written by his father 
thirty years ago. 

“I thank 3 t ou, dear friend, for all 3 r ou say 
about my wife and boy. I thank 3 T ou for re- 
minding me of our bo3 T ish compact. He will 
be read3 T to fulfil it, I know, if he loves those 
his father loves, even if 30U should marry 
years later. I am glad for 3 r our sake, for both 
our sakes, that it is a bo3\ Heaven send you 
a good wife, dear Adams, and a daughter, to 
make my son equalty happy.” 

Joe Silsbie looked down, took the half- 


192 THE GREAT DEAD WOOD MYSTERY. 

laughing, half-tearful face in his hands, kissed 
her forehead, and, with tears in his grave eyes, 
said, “ Amen ! ” 

• • • • i 

I am inclined to think that this sentiment 
was echoed heartily by Mrs. Rightbody’s 
former acquaintances, when, a } T ear later, Miss 
Alice was united to a professional gentleman 
of honor and renown, yet who was known to 
be the son of a convicted horse-thief. A few 
remembered the previous Californian story, 
and found corroboration therefor ; but a ma- 
jority believed it a just reward to Miss Alice 
for her conduct to Mr. Marvin, and, as Miss 
Alice cheerfully accepted it in that light, I do 
not see why I may not end my story with hap- 
piness to all concerned. 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


I T was the sacred hour of noon at Sammt- 
stadt. Ever} T body was at dinner ; and the 
serious Kellner of “ Der Wildemann ” glanced 
in mild reproach at Mr. James Clinch, who, 
disregarding that fact and the invitatory table 
d'liote, stepped into the street. For Mr. 
Clinch had eaten a late breakfast at Gladbach, 
was dyspeptic and American, and, moreover, 
pre-occupied with business. He was conse- 
quently indignant, on entering the garden-like 
court and cloister-like counting-house of “ Von 
Becheret, Sons, Uncles, and Cousins, ” to find 
the comptoir deserted even by the porter, and 
was furious at the maid-servant, who offered 
the sacred shibboleth “ Mittagsessen" as a 
reasonable explanation of the solitude. “A 
country,’ ’ said Mr. Clinch to himself, “that 
stops business at mid-day to go to dinner, and 

193 


194 A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTAD T. 

employs women-servants to talk to business- 
men, is played out.” 

He stepped from the silent building into the 
equally silent Kronprinzen Strasse. Not a 
soul to be seen anywhere. Rows on rows of 
two-storied, gray-stuccoed buildings that might 
be dwellings, or might be offices, all showing 
some traces of feminine taste and supervision 
in a flower or a curtain that belied the legended 
“ Comptoir,” or “ Direction,” over their por- 
tals. Mr. Clinch thought of Boston and State 
Street, of New York and Wall Street, and 
became coldly contemptuous. 

Yet there was clearly nothing to do but to 
walk down the formal rows of chestnuts that 
lined the broad Strasse, and then walk back 
again. At the corner of the first cross-street 
he was struck with the fact that two men who 
were standing in front of a dwelling-house 
appeared to be as inconsistent, and out of pro- 
portion to the silent houses, as were the actors 
on a stage to the painted canvas thoroughfares 
before which they strutted. Mr. Clinch usu- 
ally had no fancies, had no eye for quaintness ; 
besides, this was not a quaint nor romantic 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


195 


district, only an entrepot for silks and vel- 
vets, and Mr. Clinch was here, not as a tourist, 
but as a purchaser. The guide-books had 
ignored Sammtstadt, and he was too good an 
American to waste time in looking up uncata- 
logued curiosities. Besides, he had been here 
once before, — an entire day ! 

One o’clock. Still a full hour and a half 
before his friend would return to business. 
What should he do? The Verein where he 
had once been entertained was deserted even 
by its waiters ; the garden, with its ostenta- 
tious out-of-door tables, looked bleak and bare. 
Mr. Clinch was not artistic in his tastes ; but 
even he was quick to detect the affront put 
upon Nature by this continental, theatrical 
gardening, and turned disgustedly away. 
Born near a “ lake ” larger than the German 
Ocean, he resented a pool of water twenty-five 
feet in diameter under that alluring title ; and, 
a frequenter of the Adirondacks, he could 
scarce contain himself over a bit of rock-work 
twelve feet high. “A country,” said Mr. 
Clinch, “that” — but here he remembered 
that he had once seen in a park in his native 


f 


{ 


196 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


city an imitation of the Drachenfels in plaster, 
on a scale of two inches to the foot, and 
checked his speech. 

He turned into the principal allee of the 
town. There was a long white building at 
one end, — the Bahnhof: at the other end he 
remembered a d3 T e-house. He had, a year 
ago, met its hospitable proprietor : he would 
call upon him now. 

But the same solitude confronted him as he 
passed the porter’s lodge beside the gateway. 
The counting-house, half villa, half factory, 
must have convoked its humanity in some out- 
of-the-way refector}’, for the halls and passages 
were tenantless. For the first time he began 
to be impressed with a certain foreign quaint- 
ness in the surroundings ; he found himself 
also recalling something he had read when a 
boy, about an enchanted palace whose inhab- 
itants awoke on the arrival of a long-pre- 
destined Prince. To assure himself of the 
absolute ridiculousness of this fancy, he took 
from his pocket the business-card of its pro- 
prietor, a sample of dye, and recalled his own 
personality in a letter of credit. Having dis- 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


197 


missed this idea from his mind, he lounged on 
again through a rustic lane that might have 
led to a farm-house, yet was still, absurdly 
enough, a part of the factory gardens. Cross- 
ing a ditch by a causewa}", he presently came 
to another ditch and another causeway, and 
then found himself idly contemplating a mas- 
sive, ivy-clad, venerable brick wall. As a 
mere wall it might not have attracted his atten- 
tion ; but it seemed to enter and bu^ itself at 
right angles in the side-wall of a quite modern- 
looking dwelling. After satisfying himself of 
this fact, he passed on before the dwelling, 
but was amazed to see the wall re-appear on 
the other side exactly the same, — old, iyy- 
grown, sturdy, uncompromising, and ridicu- 
lous. Could it actually be a part of the 
house? He turned back, and repassed the 
front of the building. The entrance-door was 
hospitably open. There was a hall and a stair- 
case, but — by all that was preposterous! — 
they were built over and around the central 
brick intrusion. The wall actually ran through 
the house ! “A country,” said Mr. Clinch to 
himself, “ where they build their houses over 


198 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


ruins to accommodate them, or save the trou- 
ble of removal, is” — , but a very pleasant 
voice addressing him here stopped his usual 
hasty conclusion. 

“ Guten Morgen! ” 

Mr. Clinch looked hastily up. Leaning on 
the parapet of what appeared to be a garden 
on the roof of the house was a young girl, 
red-cheeked, bright-eyed, blonde-haired. The 
voice was soft, subdued, and mellow; it was 
part of the new impression he was receiving, 
that it seemed to be in some sort connected 
with the ivy-clad wall before him. His hat 
was in his hand as he answered, — 

“ Guten Morgen ! ” 

“Was the Herr seeking any thing? ” 

“The Herr was only waiting a long- time- 
coming friend, and had stra} T ed here to speak 
with the before-known proprietor.” 

“So? But, the before-known proprietor 
sleeping well at present after dinner, would 
the Herr on the terrace still a while linger ? * ’ 
The Herr would, but looked around in vain 
for the means to do it. He was thinking of a 
scaling-ladder, when the young woman re- 


A LEGEND OF SAM MTS TAD T. 


199 


appeared at the open door, and bade him 
enter. 

Following his youthful hostess, Mr. Clinch 
mounted the staircase, but, passing the myste- 
rious wall, could not forbear an allusion to it. 
“It is old, very old,” said the girl : “it was 
here when I came.” 

“That was not very long ago,” said Mr. 
Clinch gallantty. 

“No; but my grandfather found it here 
too.” 

“ And built over it? ” 

“ Why not? It is very, very hard, and so 
thick.” 

Mr. Clinch here explained, with masculine 
superior^, the existence of such modern 
agents as nitro-glycerine and dynamite, per- 
suasive in their effects upon time-honored 
obstructions and encumbrances. 

“But there was not then what you call — 
this — ni — nitro-glycerine.” 

“ But since then? ” 

The young girl gazed at him in troubled 
surprise. “ My great-grandfather did not 
take it away when he built the house: why 
should we? ” 


200 A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


“Oh! ” 

They had passed through a hall and dining- 
room, and suddenly stepped out of a window 
upon a gravelled terrace. From this a few 
stone steps descended to another terrace, on 
which trees and shrubs were growing ; and 
yet, looking over the parapet, Mr. Clinch could 
see the road some twenty feet below. It was 
nearly on a level with, and part of, the second 
story of the house. Had an earthquake 
lifted the adjacent ground? or had the house 
burrowed into a hill? Mr. Clinch turned to 
his companion, who was standing close beside 
him, breathing quite audibly, and leaving an 
impression on his senses as of a gentle and 
fragrant heifer. 

“ How was all this done? ” 

The maiden did not know. “ It was 
always here.” 

Mr. Clinch re-ascended the steps. He had 
quite forgotten his impatience. Possibly it 
was the gentle, equable calm of the girl, who, 
but for her ready color, did not seem to be 
moved by any thing ; perhaps it was the peace- 
ful repose of this mausoleum of the dead and 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


201 


forgotten wall that subdued him, but he was 
quite willing to take the old-fashioned chair on 
the terrace which she offered him, and follow 
her motions with not altogether mechanical 
eyes as she drew out certain bottles and 
glasses from a mysterious closet in the wall. 
Mr. Clinch had the weakness of a majority of 
his sex in believing that he was a good judge 
of wine and women. The latter, as shown 
in the specimen before him, he would have 
invoiced as a fair sample of the middle-class 
German woman, — healthy, comfort-loving, 
home-abiding, the very genius of domesti- 
city. Even in her virgin outlines the future 
wholesome matron was already forecast, from 
the curves of her broad hips, to the flat lines 
of her back and shoulders. Of the wine he 
was to judge later. That required an even 
more subtle and unimpassioned intellect. 

She placed two bottles before him on the 
table, — one, the traditional long-necked, am- 
ber-colored Eheinjlasche ; the other, an old, 
quaint, discolored, amphorax-patterned glass 
jug. The first she opened. 

‘‘This,” she said, pointing to the other, 
“ cannot be opened.” 


202 A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 

Mr. Clinch paid his respects first to the 
opened bottle, a good quality of Niersteiner. 
With his intellect thus clarified, he glanced at 
the other. 

“ It is from my great-grandfather. It is old 
as the wall.” 

Mr. Clinch examined the bottle attentively. 
It seemed to have no cork. Formed of some 
obsolete, opaque glass, its twisted neck was 
apparently hermetically sealed by the same 
material. The maiden smiled, as she said, — 

“ It cannot be opened now without breaking 
the bottle. It is not good luck to do so. 
My grandfather and my father would not.” 

But Mr. Clinch was still examining the 
bottle. Its neck was flattened towards the 
mouth ; but a close inspection showed it w r as 
closed by some equally hard cement, but not 
glass. 

“If I can open it without breaking the 
bottle, have I your permission? ” 

A mischievous glance rested on Mr. Clinch, 
as the maiden answered, — 

“ I shall not object ; but for what will you 
do it? ” 


A LEGEND OF SAM MTS TAD T. 203 

44 To taste it, to trj" it.’’ 

44 You are not afraid? ” 

There was just enough obvious admiration 
of Mr. Clinch’s audacity in the maiden’s man- 
ner to impel him to any risk. His only an- 
swer was to take from his pocket a small steel 
instrument. Holding the neck of the bottle 
firmly in one hand, he passed his thumb and 
the steel twice or thrice around it. A faint 
rasping, scratching sound was all the wonder- 
ing girl heard. Then, with a sudden, dex- 
terous twist of his thumb and finger, to her 
utter astonishment he laid the top of the neck, 
neatly cut off, in her hand. 

“There’s a better and more modern bottle 
than you had before,” he said, pointing to the 
eleanty-divided neck, 44 and any cork will fit it 
now.” 

But the girl regarded him with anxiety. 
44 And you still wish to taste the wine? ” 

44 With your permission, } T es ! ” 

He looked up in her eyes. There was per- 
mission : there was something more, that was 
flattering to his vanity. He took the wine- 
glass, and, slowly and in silence, filled it from 
the mysterious flask. 


204 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


The wine fell into the glass clearly, trans- 
parently, heavily, but still and cold as death. 
There was no sparkle, no cheap ebullition, no 
evanescent bubble. Yet it was so clear, that, 
but for a faint amber-tinting, the glass seemed 
empty. There was no aroma, no ethereal dif- 
fusion from its equable surface. Perhaps it 
was fancy, perhaps it was from nervous ex- 
citement ; but a slight chill seemed to -radiate 
from the still goblet, and bring down the tem- 
perature of the terrace. Mr. Clinch and his 
companion both insensibty shivered. 

But only for a moment. Mr. Clinch raised 
the glass to his lips. As he did so, he remem- 
bered seeing distinctly, as in a picture before 
him, the sunlit terrace, the pretty girl in the 
foreground, — an amused spectator of his sac- 
rilegious act, — the outlying ivy-crowned wall, 
the grass-grown ditch, the tall factory chimneys 
rising above the chestnuts, and the distant 
poplars that marked the Rhine. 

The wine was delicious ; perhaps a trifle, 
only a trifle, heady. He was conscious of a 
slight exaltation. There was also a smile upon 
the girl’s lip and a roguish twinkle in her eye 
as she looked at him. 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 205 

“ Do you find the wine to your taste? ” she 
asked. 

“Fair enough, I warrant,” said Mr. Clinch 
with ponderous gallantry ; “ but metliinks ’tis 
nothing compared with the nectar that grows 
on those ruby lips. Nay, by St. Ursula, I 
swear it ! ” 

No sooner had this solemnly ridiculous 
speech passed the lips of the unfortunate man 
than he would have given worlds to have 
recalled it. He knew that he must be intoxi- 
cated ; that the sentiment and language were 
utterly unlike him, he w T as miserably aware ; 
that he did not even know exactly what it 
meant, he was also hopelessly conscious. Yet 
feeling all this, — feeling, too, the shame of 
appearing before her as a man who had lost his 
senses through a single glass of wine, — never- 
theless he rose awkwardly, seized her hand, 
and b} r sheer force drew her towards him, and 
kissed her. With an exclamation that was 
half a cry, and half a laugh, she fled from him, 
leaving him alone and bewildered on the ter- 
race. 

For a moment Mr. Clinch supported himself 


206 A LEGEND OF SAMMTS TAD T. 

against the open window, leaning his throbbing 
head on the cold glass. Shame, mortification, 
an hysterical half- consciousness of his utter 
ridiculousness, and yet an odd, undefined terror 
of something, by turns possessed him. Was 
he ever before guilty of such perfect folly? 
Had he ever before made such a spectacle of 
himself? Was it possible that he, Mr. James 
Clinch, the coolest head at a late supper, — 
he, the American, who had repeatedly drunk 
Frenchmen and Englishman under the table — 
could be transformed into a sentimental, stagey 
idiot by a single glass of wine ? He was con- 
scious, too, of asking himself these ver}^ ques- 
tions in a stilted sort of rhetoric, and with a 
rising brutality of anger that was new to him. 
And then every thing swam before him, and he 
seemed to lose all consciousness. 

But only for an instant. With a strong 
effort of his will he again recalled himself, his 
situation, his surroundings, and, above all, his 
appointment. He rose to his feet, hurriedly 
descended the terrace-steps, and, before he well 
knew how, found himself again on the road. 
Once there, his faculties returned in full vigor ; 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 207 

he was again himself. He strode briskly for- 
ward toward the ditch he had crossed only a few 
moments before, but was suddenly stopped. 
It was filled with water ! He looked up and 
down. It was clearly the same ditch ; but a 
flowing stream thirty’ feet wide now separated 
him from the other bank. 

The appearance of this unlooked-for obstacle 
made Mr. Clinch doubt the full restoration of 
his faculties. He stepped to the brink of the 
flood to bathe his head in the stream, and wash 
away the last vestiges of his potations. But 
as he approached the placid depths, and knelt 
down, he again started back, and this time 
with a full conviction of his own madness ; 
for reflected from its mirror-like surface was 
a figure he could scarcely call his own, although 
here and there some trace of his former self 
remained. 

His close-cropped hair, trimmed a la mode , 
had given way to long, curling locks that 
dropped upon his shoulders. His neat mus- 
tache was frightfully prolonged, and curled up 
at the ends stiffly. His Piccadilly collar had 
changed shape and texture, and reached — a 


208 A LEGEND OF SAMMTS TAD T. 

mass of lace — to a point midway of his breast. 
His boots, — why had he not noticed his boots 
before ? — these triumphs of his Parisian boot- 
maker, were lost in hideous leathern cases that 
reached half way up his thighs. In place of 
his former high silk hat, there lay upon the 
ground beside him the awful -thing he had just 
taken off, — a mass of thickened felt, flap, 
feather, and buckle that weighed at least a 
stone. 

A single terrible idea now took possession 
of him. He had been u sold,” “taken in,” 
“ done for.” He saw it all. In a state of 
intoxication he had lost his way, had been 
dragged into some vile den, stripped of his 
clothes and valuables, and turned adrift upon 
the quiet town in this shameless masquerade. 
How should he keep his appointment? how 
inform the police of this outrage upon a 
stranger and an American citizen? how es- 
tablish his identity ? Had they spared his 
papers? He felt feverishly in his breast. 
Ah! — his watch? Yes, a watch — heavy, 
jewelled, enamelled — and, by all that was 
ridiculous, Jive others! He ran his hands 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTS TAD T. 209 

into his capacious trunk hose. What was 
this? Brooches, chains, finger-rings, — one 
large episcopal one, — ear-rings- and a handful 
of battered gold and silver coins. His papers, 
his memorandums, his passport — all proofs 
of his identity — were gone! In their place 
was the unmistakable omnium gatherum of an 
accomplished knight of the road. Not only 
was his personality, but his character, gone 
forever. 

It was a part of Mr. Clinch’s singular expe- 
rience that this last stroke of ill fortune seemed 
to revive in him something of the brutal 
instinct he had felt a moment before. He 
turned eagerly about with the intention of 
calling some one — the first person he met — 
to account. But the house that he had just 
quitted was gone ! The wall ! Ah, there it 
was, no longer purposeless, intrusive, and 
ivy-clad, but part of the buttress of another 
massive wall that rose into battlements above 
him. Mr. Clinch turned again hopelessly to- 
ward Sammtstadt. There was the fringe of 
poplars op the Rhine, there was the outlying 
fields lit by the same meridian sun ; but the 


210 


A LEGEND OF SAM MTS TAD T. 


characteristic chimneys of Sammtstadt were 
gone. Mr. Clinch was hopeless^ lost. 

The sound of a horn breaking the stillness 
recalled his senses. He now for the first time 
perceived that a little distance below him, 
partly hidden in the trees, was a queer, tower- 
shaped structure with chains and pulleys, that 
in some strange way recalled his boyish read- 
ing. A drawbridge and portcullis ! And on 
the battlement a figure in a masquerading 
dress as absurd as his own, flourishing a ban- 
ner and trumpet, and trying to attract his 
attention. 

“ Was wollen Sie?” 

“ I want to see the proprietor,” said Mr. 
Clinch, choking back his rage. 

There was a pause, and the figure turned 
apparently to consult with some one behind 
the battlements. After a moment he re-ap- 
peared, and in a perfunctory monotone, with 
an occasional breathing spell on the trumpet, 
began, — 

“You do give warranty as a good knight 
and true, as well as by the bones of the blessed 
St. Ursula, that you bear no ill will, secret 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTAD T. 211 

enmity, wicked misprise or conspiracy, against 
the body of our noble lord and master Von 
Kolnsche ? And 3*011 bring with 3*011 no am- 
bush, siege, or surprise of retainers, neither 
secret warrant nor lettres de cachet , nor carry 
on 3 r our knightty person poisoned dagger, 
magic ring, witch-powder, nor enchanted bul- 
let, and that 3*011 have entered into no unhal- 
lowed alliance with the Prince of Darkness, 
gnomes, hexies, dragons, Undines, Lorelies, 
nor the like? ” 

“ Come down out of that, 3*ou d d old 

fool! ” roared Mr. Clinch, now perfectly 
beside himself with rage, — “ come down, and 
let me in ! ” 

As Mr. Clinch shouted out the last words, 
confused cries of recognition and welcome, not 
unmixed with some consternation, rose from 
the battlements : “ Ach Gott !” “ Mutter Gott 
— it is he ! It is Jann , Der Wanderer. It 
is himself. ” The chains rattled, the ponder- 
ous drawbridge creaked and dropped ; and 
across it a medley of motlej* figures rushed 
pell-mell. But, foremost among them, the 
very maiden whom he had left not ten min- 


212 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


utes before flew into his arms, and with a 
cry of joyful greeting sank upon his breast. 
Mr. Clinch looked down upon the fair head 
and long braids. It certainly was the same 
maiden, his cruel enchantress ; but where did 
she get those absurd garments ? 

“ Willkommen ,” said a stout figure, advan- 
cing with some authority, and seizing his dis- 
engaged hand, “where hast thou been so 
long? ” 

Mr. Clinch, by no means placated, coldly 
dropped the extended hand. It was not the 
proprietor he had known. But there was a 
singular resemblance in his face to some one 
of Mr. Clinch’s own kin ; but who, he could 
not remember. “May I take the liberty of 
asking your name? ” he asked coldly. 

The figure grinned. “ Surely ; but, if thou 
standest upon punctilio, it is for me to ask 
thine, most noble Freiherr,” said he, winking 
upon his retainers. “ Whom have I the honor 
of entertaining?” 

“My name is Clinch, — James Clinch of 
Chicago, 111.” 

A shout of laughter followed. In the midst 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 213 

of his rage and mortification Mr. Clinch fan- 
cied he saw a shade of pain and annoj^ance flit 
across the face of the maiden. He was puz- 
zled, but pressed her hand, in spite of his late 
experiences, re-assuringly. She made a ges- 
ture of silence to him, and then slipped away 
in the crowd. 

“ Schames KTn’sche von Schekargo,” mim- 
icked the figure, to the unspeakable delight of 
his retainers. u So ! That is the latest French 
style. Holy St. Ursula ! Hark ye, nephew ! 
I am not a travelled man. Since the Crusades 
we simple Rhine gentlemen have staid at home. 
But I call myself Kolnsche of Koln, at your 
service/ * 

“ Very likely you are right,’’ said Mr. 
Clinch hotly, disregarding the caution of his 
fair companion; “but, whoever you are, I 
am a stranger entitled to protection. I have 
been robbed.” 

If Mr. Clinch had uttered an exquisite joke 
instead of a very angry statement, it could 
not have been more hilariously received. He 
paused, grew confused, and then went on hesi- 
tatingly, — 


214 


A LEGEND OF SAM MTS TAD T. 


“In place of my papers and credentials I 
find only these. ” And he produced the jew- 
elry from his pockets. 

Another shout of laughter and clapping of 
hands followed this second speech ; and the 
baron, with a wink at his retainers, prolonged 
the general mirth by saying, “By the wa} T , 
nephew, there is little doubt but there has been 
robbery — somewhere. ’ ’ 

“ It was done,” continued Mr. Clinch, hur- 
ling to make an end of his explanation, 
“while I was inadvertently overcome with 
liquor, — drugged liquor. ’ * 

The laughter here was so uproarious that 
the baron, albeit with tears of laughter in his 
own eyes, made a peremptory gesture of 
silence. The gesture was peculiar to the 
baron, efficacious and simple. It consisted 
merely in knocking down the nearest laugher. 
Having thus restored tranquillity, he strode 
forward, and took Mr. Clinch b}^ the hand. 
“ By St. Adolph, I did doubt thee a moment 
ago, nephew ; but this last frank confession 
of thine shows me I did thee wrong. WilUcom- 
men zu Hause , Jann, drunk or sober, willkom* 
men zu Cracowen .” 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 215 

More and more mystified, but convinced of 
the folly of any further explanation, Mr. Clinch 
took the extended hand of his alleged uncle, 
and permitted himself' to be led into the cas- 
tle. They passed into a large banqueting-hall 
adorned with armor and implements of the 
chase. Mr. Clinch could not help noticing, 
that, although the appointments were liberal 
and picturesque, the ventilation was bad, and 
the smoke from the huge chimney made the 
air murky. The oaken tables, massive in 
carving and rich in color, were unmistakably 
greasy ; and Mr. Clinch slipped on a piece of 
meat that one of the dozen half-wild dogs who 
were occupying the room was tearing on the 
floor. The dog, } T elping, ran between the legs 
of a retainer, precipitating him upon the baron, 
who instantly, with the “ equal foot ” of fate, 
kicked him and the dog into a corner. 

“ And whence came you last?” asked the 
baron, disregarding the little contretemps , and 
throwing himself heavity on an oaken settle, 
while he pushed a queer, uncomfortable-look- 
ing stool, with legs like a Siamese-twin-con- 
aected double X, towards his companion. 


216 


A LEGEND OF SAM MTS TAD T. 


Mr. Clinch, who had quite given himself 
up to fate, answered mechanically, — 

“ Paris.” 

The baron winked his eye with unutterable, 
elderly wickedness. “ Acli Gott! it is nothing 
to what it was when I was your age. Ah ! 
there was Manon, — /S'iewr Manon we used to 
call her. I suppose she’s getting old now. 
How goes on the feud between the students 
and the citizens? Eh? Did you go to the 
bod in la Cite?” 

Mr. Clinch stopped the flow of those Justice- 
Shallow-like reminiscences by an uneasy ex- 
clamation. He was thinking of the maiden 
who had disappeared so suddenly. The baron 
misinterpreted his nervousness. “What, ho, 
within there! — Max, Wolfgang, — lazy ras- 
cals ! Bring some wine.” 

At the baleful word Mr. Clinch started to 
his feet. “Not forme! Bring me none of 
your body-and-soul-destroying poison ! I’ve 
enough of it ! ” 

The baron stared. The servitors stared 
also. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Clinch, re- 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 21 7 

calling himself slowly ; “ but I fear that Rhine 
wine does not agree with me.” 

The baron grinned. Perceiving, however, 
that the three servitors grinned also, he kicked 
two of them into obscurity, and felled the 
third to the floor with his fist. “Hark ye, 
nephew,” he said, turning to the astonished 
Clinch, “give over this nonsense! By the 
mitre of Bishop Hatto, thou art as big a fool 
as he ! ” 

“ Hatto,” repeated Clinch mechanically. 
“ What ! he of the Mouse Tower? ” 

“Ay, of the Mouse Tower!” sneered the 
baron. “ I see you know the storj\” 

“Why am I like him?” asked Mr. Clinch 
in amazement. 

The baron grinned. “ He punished the 
Rheinish wine as thou dost, without judgment. 
He had ” — 

“The jim-jams,” said Mr. Clinch mechani- 
cally again. 

The baron frowned. “I know not what 
gibberish thou saj^est by ‘ jim-jams ; ’ but he 
had, like thee, the wildest fantasies and imagin- 
ings ; saw snakes, toads, rats, in his boots, but 


218 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


principally rats; said they pursued him, came 
to his room, his bed — ach Gott ! ” 

“Oh ! ” said Mr. Clinch, with a sudden re- 
turn to his firmer self and his native inquiring 
habits; “then that is the fact about Bishop 
Hatto of the story ? ’ ’ 

“ His enemies made it the subject of a vile 
slander of an old friend of mine,” said the 
baron ; “ and those cursed poets, who believe 
every thing, and then persuade others to do 
so, — may the Devil fly away with them*! — 
kept it up.” 

Here were facts quite to Mr. Clinch’s scep- 
tical mind. He forgot himself and his sur- 
roundings. 

‘ ‘ And that story of the Drachenfels ? ’ ’ 
he asked insinuatingly, — “the dragon, you 
know. Was he too ” — 

The baron grinned. “ A boar transformed 
by the drunken brains of the Bauer s of the 
Siebengebirge. Ach Gott! Ottefried had many 
a hearty laugh over it ; and it did him, as thou 
knowest, good service with the nervous mother 
of the silly maiden.” 

“And the seven sisters of Schonberg?’' 
asked Mr. Clinch persuasively. 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 219 

“ 4 Schonberg ! Seven sisters ! * What of 
them? ” demanded the baron sharply. 

u Why, you know, — the maidens who were 
so coy to their suitors, and — don’t }’ou re- 
member? — jumped into the Rhine to avoid 
them.” 

“‘Coy? Jumped into the Rhine to avoid 
suitors ’ ? ” roared the baron, purple with rage. 
“ Hark ye, nephew ! I like not this jesting. 
Thou knowest I married one of the Schonberg 
girls, as did thy father. How ‘ coy * they 
were is neither here nor there ; but mayhap we 
might tell another stoiy. Thy father, as weak 
a fellow as thou art where a petticoat is con- 
cerned, could not as a gentleman do other 
than he did. And this is his reward? Ach 
Gott! ‘Coy!’ And this , I warrant, is the 
way the story is delivered in Paris.” 

Mr. Clinch would have answered that this 
was the way he read it in a guide-book, but 
checked himself at the hopelessness of the 
explanation. Besides, he was on the eve of 
historic information ; he was, as it were, inter- 
viewing the past ; and, whether he would ever 
be able to profit by the opportunity or not, he 


220 A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 

could not bear to lose it. “And how about 
the Lorelie — is she, too, a fiction? he asked 
glibly. 

“ It was said,” observed the baron sardon- 
ically, “that when thou disappeared with the 
gamekeeper’s daughter at Obercassel — Heaven 
knows where ! — thou wast swallowed up in a 
whirlpool with some creature. Acli Gott! I 
believe it ! But a truce to this balderdash. 
And so thou wantest to know of the 4 coy ’ 
sisters of Schonberg? Hark ye, Jann, that 
cousin of thine is a Schonberg. Call you her 
‘ coy ’ ? Did I not see thy greeting ? Eh ? 
By St. Adolph, knowing thee as she does to 
be robber and thief, call you her greeting 
‘coy’?” 

Furious as Mr. Clinch inwardly became 
under these epithets, he felt that his explana- 
tion would hardly relieve the maiden from 
deceit, or himself from weakness. But out of 
his very perplexity and turmoil a bright idea 
was born. He turned to the baron, — 

“Then you have no faith in the Rhine 
legends? ” 

The baron only replied with a contemptuous 
shrug of his shoulders. 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 221 


“ But what if I told you a new one? ” 

“You?” 

“ Yes ; a part of my experience? ” 

The baron was curious. It was early in 
the afternoon, just after dinner. He might 
be worse bored. 

“I’ve only one condition,” added Mr. 
Clinch : “ the young lady — I mean, of course, 
my cousin — must hear it too.” 

“Oh, ay! I see. Of course — the old 
trick ! Well, call the jade. But mark ye, Sir 
Nephew, no enchanted maidens and knights. 
Keep to thyself. Be as thou art, vagabond 
Jann Kolnsche, knight of the road. — What 
ho there, scoundrels ! Call the Lady Wil- 
helmina.” 

It was the first time Mr. Clinch had heard 
his fair friend’s name ; but it was not, evi- 
dently, the first time she had seen him, as the 
very decided wink the gentle maiden dropped 
him testified. Nevertheless, with hands lightly 
clasped together, and downcast eyes, she stood 
before them. 

Mr. Clinch began. Without heeding the 
baron’s scornful grin, he graphically described 


222 A LEGEND OF SAMMTS TAD T. 

his meeting, two years before, with a Lorelie, 
her usual pressing invitation, and his subse- 
quent plunge into the Rhine. 

“Iam free to confess,” added Mr. Clinch, 
with an affecting glance to Wilhelmina, “ that 
I was not enamoured of the graces of the 
lady, but was actuated by my desire to travel, 
and explore hitherto unknown regions. I 
wished to travel, to visit ” — 

“ Paris,” interrupted the baron sarcastically. 

“America,” continued Mr. Clinch. 

“What?” 

“ America.” 

“ ’Tis a gnome-like sounding name, this 
Meriker. Go on, nephew : tell us of Meriker. ’ ’ 

With the characteristic fluency of his 
nation, Mr. Clinch described his landing on 
those enchanted shores, viz., the Rhine Whirl- 
pool and Hell Gate, East River, New York. 
He described the railways, tramways, tele- 
graphs, hotels, phonograph, and telephone. 
An occasional oath broke from the baron, but 
he listened attentively ; and in a few moments 
Mr. Clinch had the raconteur's satisfaction of 
seeing the vast hall slowly filling with open- 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 223 


eyed and open-mouthed retainers hanging 
upon his words. Mr. Clinch went on to 
describe his astonishment at meeting on these 
very shores some of his own blood and kin. 
“In fact,” said Mr. Clinch, “here were a 
race calling themselves 4 Clinch,’ but all claim- 
ing to have descended from Kolnische.” 

“And how? ” sneered the baron. 

“ Through James Kolnische and Wilhelmina 
his wife,” returned Mr. Clinch boldly. 
4 4 They emigrated from Koln and Crefeld to 
Philadelphia, where there is a quarter named 
Crefeld.” Mr. Clinch felt himself shaky as 
to his chronology, but wisely remembered that 
it was a chronology of the future to his hear- 
ers, and they could not detect an anachronism. 
With his eyes fixed upon those of the gentle 
Wilhelmina, Mr. Clinch now proceeded to 
describe his return to his fatherland, but his 
astonishment at finding the ver} T face of the 
country changed, and a city standing on those 
fields he had pla} T ed in as a bo}~ ; and how he 
had wandered hopelessl}' on, until he at last 
sat wearily down in a humble cottage built 
upon the ruins of a lordly castle. 44 So utterly 


224 A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


travel- worn and weak had I become,” said 
Mr. Clinch, with adroitly simulated pathos, 
44 that a single glass of wine offered me by the 
simple cottage maiden affected me like a pro- 
longed debauch.” 

A long-drawn snore was all that followed 
this affecting climax. The baron was asleep ; 
the retainers were also asleep. Only one 
pair of eyes remained open, — arch, luminous, 
blue, — Wilhelmina’s. 

44 There is a subterranean passage below us 
to Linn. Let us fly ! ” she whispered. 

“But why? ” 

“They always do it in the legends,” she 
murmured modestly; 

44 But your father? ” 

44 He sleeps. Do you not hear him? ” 

Certainly somebody was snoring. But, 
oddlv enough, it seemed to be Wilhelmina. 
Mr. Clinch suggested this to her. 

44 Fool, it is yourself ! ” 

Mr. Clinch, struck w r ith the idea, stopped 
to consider. She was right. It certainly ivas 
himself. 

With a struggle he awoke. The sun was 


A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 


225 


shining. The maiden was looking at him. 
But the castle — the castle was gone ! 

“ You have slept well,” said the maiden 
archly. “ Everybody does after dinner at 
Sammtstadt. Father has just awakened, and 
is coming.” 

Mr. Clinch stared at the maiden, at the ter- 
race, at the sky, at the distant chimneys of 
Sammtstadt, at the more distant Rhine, at the 
table before him, and finally at the empty 
glass. The maiden smiled. “ Tell me,” said 
Mr. Clinch, looking in her eyes, “is there a 
secret passage underground between this place 
and the Castle of Linn? ” 

“ An underground passage? ” 

“Ay — whence the daughter of the house 
fled with a stranger knight.” 

“ They say there is,” said the maiden, with 
a gentle blush. 

‘ 4 Can you show it to me ? ’ * 

She hesitated. “ Papa is coming: I’ll ask 
him.” 

I presume she did. At least the Herr Con- 
sul at Sammtstadt informs me of a marriage- 
certificate issued to one Clinch of Chicago, 


226 A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT. 

and Kolnische of Koln ; and there is an amus- 
ing story extant in the Verein at Sammtstadt, 
of an American connoisseur of Rhine wines, 
who mistook a flask of Cognac and rock- 
candy, used for ‘ ‘ craftity qualifying ’ * lower 
grades of wine to the American standard, for 
the rarest Rudesheimerberg. 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN 
SPION. 



UTSIDE of my window, two narrow 


perpendicular mirrors, parallel with the 
casement, project into the street, yet with a 
certain unobtrusiveness of angle that enables 
them to reflect the people who pass, without 
any reciprocal disclosure of their own. The 
men and women hunying b}”, not only do not 
know they are observed, but, what is worse, 
do not even see their own reflection in this 
hypocritical plane, and are consequently unable, 
through its aid, to correct any carelessness of 
garb, gait, or demeanor. At first this seems 
to be taking an unfair advantage of the human 
animal, who invariably assumes an attitude 
when he is conscious of being under human 
focus. But I observe that my neighbors’ win- 
dows, right and left, have a similar apparatus, 
that this custom is evidently a local one, and 
the locality is German. Being an American 


227 


228 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 


stranger, I am quite willing to leave the mo- 
rality of the transaction with the locality, and 
adapt myself to the custom : indeed, I had 
thought of offering it, figuratively, as an excuse 
for any unfairness of observation I might make 
in these pages. But my German mirrors re- 
flect without prejudice, selection, or comment ; 
and the American eye, I fear, is but mortal, 
and like all mortal eyes, figuratively as well as 
in that literal fact noted by an eminent scien- 
tific authority, infinitely inferior to the work of 
the best German opticians. 

And this leads me to my first observation, 
namely, that a majority of those who pass my 
mirror have weak eyes, and have already 
invoked the aid of the optician. Why are 
these people, ph} T sically in all else so much 
stronger than my countrymen, deficient in eye- 
sight? Or, to omit the passing testimony of 
my Spion , and take my own personal experi- 
ence, why does my 3’oung friend Max, bright- 
est of all schoolboj’s, who already wears the 
cap that denotes the highest class, — why does 
he shock me by suddenly drawing forth a pair 
of spectacles, that upon his fresh, rosy face 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 229 


would be an obvious mocking imitation of the 
Herr Papa — if German children could ever, 
by an} possibility, be irreverent? Or why 
does the Fraulein Marie, his sister, pink as 
Aurora, round as Hebe, suddenly veil her blue 
eyes with a golden lorgnette in the midst of 
our polyglot conversation? Is it to evade 
the direct, admiring glance of the impulsive 
American? Dare I say No? Dare I say that 
that frank, clear, honest, earnest return of the 
eye, which has on the Continent most unfairly 
brought my fair countrywomen under criticism, 
is quite as common to her more carefully- 
guarded, tradition-hedged German sisters? 
No, it is not that. Is it any thing in these 
emerald and opal tinted skies, which seem so 
unreal to the American eye, and for the first 
time explain what seemed the unreality of 
German art? in these mysterious yet restful 
Rhine fogs, which prolong the twilight, and 
hang the curtain of romance even over mid- 

<D 

flay? Surely not. Is it not rather, O Herr 
Professor profound in analogy and philosophy ! 

> — is it not rather this abominable black-letter, 
this elsewhere-discarded, uncouth, slowly- 


230 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 

decaying text known as the German Alphabet, 
that plucks out the bright eyes of youth, and 
bristles the gateways of your language with a 
chevaux cle frise of splintered rubbish? Why 
must I hesitate whether it is an accident of the 
printer’s press, or the poor quality of the paper, 
that makes this letter a “ Tc ” or a u t ” ? Why 
must I halt in an emotion or a thought because 
“ s ” and u /” are so nearty alike? Is it not 
enough that I, an impulsive American, accus- 
tomed to do a thing first, and reflect upon it 
afterwards, must grope my way through a 
blind alley of substantives and adjectives, only 
to find the verb of action in an obscure corner, 
without ruining my eyesight in the groping? 

But I dismiss these abstract reflections for a 
fresh and active resentment. This is the fifth 
or sixth dog that has passed my Spion, har- 
nessed to a small barrow-like cart, and tug- 
ging painfully at a burden so ludicrously dis- 
proportionate to his size, that it would seem a 
burlesque, but for the poor dog’s sad sincerity. 
Perhaps it is because I have the barbarian’s 
fondness for dogs, and for their lawless, gentle, 
loving uselessness, that I rebel against this 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 231 

unnatural servitude. It seems as monstrous 
as if a child were put between the shafts, and 
made to cany burdens ; and I have come to 
regard those men and women, who in the weak- 
est perfunctory way affect to aid the poor 
brute by la}ing idle hands on the barrow 
behind, as I would unnatural parents. Pega- 
sus harnessed to the Thracian herdsman’s 
plough was no more of a desecration. I fancy 
the poor dog seems to feel the monstrosity of 
the performance, and, in sheer shame for his 
master, forgivingly tries to assume it is play ; 
and I have seen a little “ colley ” running along, 
barking, and endeavoring to leap and gambol 
in the shafts, before a load that any one out 
of this locality would have thought the direst 
cruelty. Nor do the older or more powerful 
dogs seem to become accustomed to it. When 
his cruel taskmaster halts with his wares, 
instantly the dog, either by sitting down in his 
harness, or crawling over the shafts, or by 
some unmistakable dog-like trick, utterly scat- 
ters any such delusion of even the habit of 
servitude. The few of his race who do not 
work in this ducal city seem to have lost their 


232 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 

democratic canine sympathies, and look upon 
him with something of that indifferent calm 
with which yonder officer eyes the road-mender 
in the ditch below him. He loses even the 
characteristics of species. The common cur 
and mastiff look alike in harness. The burden 
levels all distinctions. I have said that he 
was generally sincere in his efforts. I recall 
but one instance to the contrary. I remember 
a young colley who first attracted my atten- 
tion by his persistent barking. Whether he 
did this, as the plough-boy whistled, “ for want 
of thought,” or whether it was a running pro- 
test against his occupation, I could not deter- 
mine, until one day I noticed, that, in barking, 
he slightly threw up his neck and shoulders, 
and that the two-wheeled barrow-like vehicle 
behind him, having its weight evenly poised 
on the wheels by the trucks in the hands of 
its driver, enabled him by this movement to 
cunningty throw the centre of gravity and the 
greater weight on the man, — a fact which that 
less sagacious brute never discerned. Perhaps 
I am using a strong expression regarding his 
driver. It may be that the purely animal wants 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 233 

of the dog, in the way of food, care, and shel- 
ter, are more bountifully supplied in servitude 
than in freedom ; becoming a valuable and 
useful propert}’, he ma} T be cared for and pro- 
tected as such (an odd recollection that this 
argument had been used forcibly in regard to 
human slavery in my own country strikes me 
here) ; but his picturesqueness and poetry are 
gone, and I cannot help thinking that the peo- 
ple who have lost this gentle, sympathetic, 
characteristic figure from their domestic life 
and surroundings have not acquired an equal 
gain through his harsh labors. 

To the American eye there is, throughout the 
length and breadth of this foreign cit} r , no more 
notable and striking object than the average 
German house-servant. It is not that she has 
passed m} r Spion a dozen times within the last 
hour, — for here she is messenger, porter, and 
commissionnaire , as well as housemaid and 
cook, — but that she is alwa} T s a phenomenon 
to the American stranger, accustomed to be 
abused in his own country by his foreign Irish 
handmaiden. Her presence is as refreshing 
and grateful as the morning light, and as in- 


234 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 

evitable and regular. When I add that with 
the novelty of being well served is combined 
the satisfaction of knowing that you have in 
your household an intelligent being who reads 
and writes with fluency, and yet does not 
abstract }our books, nor criticise }'our literary 
composition ; who is cleanly clad, and neat in 
her person, without the suspicion of having 
borrowed her mistress’s dresses ; who may be 
good-looking without the least imputation of 
coquetry or addition to her followers ; who is 
obedient without servility, polite without flat- 
tery, willing and replete with supererogatory 
performance, without the expectation of im- 
mediate pecuniary return, what wonder that 
the American householder translated into 
German life feels himself in a new Eden of 
domestic possibilities unrealized in any other 
country, and begins to believe in a present and 
future of domestic happiness ! What wonder 
that the American bachelor living in German 
lodgings feels half the terrors of the conjugal 
future removed, and rushes madly into love — 
and housekeeping ! What wonder that I, a 
long-suffering and patient master, who have 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 235 

been served by the reticent but too imitative 
Chinaman; who have been “ Massa ” to the 
childlike but untruthful negro ; who have been 
the recipient of the brotherly but uncertain 
ministrations of the South-Sea Islander, and 
have been proudly disregarded by the Ameri- 
can aborigine, only in due time to meet the 
fate of my countrymen at the hands of Bridget 
the Celt, — what wonder that I gladly seize 
this opportunity to sing the praises of my 
German handmaid ! Honor to thee, Lenchen, 
wherever thou goest ! Heaven bless thee in 
th} T walks abroad ! whether with that tightly- 
booted cavalryman in thy Sunday gown and 
best, or in blue polka-dotted apron and bare 
head as thou trottest nimbly on mine errands, 
— errands which Bridget O’Flaherty would 
scorn to undertake, or, undertaking, would 
hopelessly blunder in. Heaven bless thee, 
child, in thy early risings and in thy later sit- 
tings, at thy festive board overflowing with 
Essig and Fett , in the mysteries of thy Kuchen , 
in the fulness of thy Bier , and in thy nightly 
suffocations beneath mountainous and multitu- 
dinous feathers ! Good, honest, simple-minded, 


236 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 

cheerful, duty-loving Lenchen ! Have not thy 
brothers, strong and dutiful as thou, lent their 
gravity and earnestness to sweeten and 
strengthen the fierce youth of the Republic 
beyond the seas? and shall not thy children 
inherit the broad prairies that* still wait for 
them, and discover the fatness thereof, and 
send a portion transmuted in glittering shekels 
back to thee ? 

Almost as notable are the children whose 
round faces have as frequentl} 7 been reflected 
in my Spion. Whether it is only a fancy of 
mine that the average German retains longer 
than any other race his childish simplicity and 
unconsciousness, or whether it is because I 
am more accustomed to the extreme self-asser- 
tion and earl} 7 maturity of American children, 
I know not ; but I am inclined to believe that 
among no other people is childhood as peren- 
nial, and to be studied in such characteristic 
and quaint and simple phases, as here. The 
picturesqueness of Spanish and Italian child- 
hood has a faint suspicion of the pantomime 
and the conscious attitudinizing of the Latin 
races. German children are not exuberant oi 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 237 

Volatile : they are serious, — a seriousness, 
however, not to be confounded with the grave 
reflectiveness of age, but only the abstract 
wonderment of childhood ; for all those who 
have made a loving study of the young human 
animal will, I think, admit that its dominant 
expression is gravity , and not playfulness, and 
will be satisfied that he erred pitifully who first 
ascribed “light-heartedness” and “ thought- 
lessness ” as part of its phenomena. These lit- 
tle creatures I meet upon the street, — whether 
in quaint wooden shoes and short woollen petti- 
coats, or neatly booted and furred, with school 
knapsacks jauntily borne upon little square 
shoulders, — all cany likewise in their round 
chubby faces their profound wonderment and 
Astonishment at the big busy world into which 
they have so lately sti^ed. If I stop to 
speak with this little maid who scarcely reaches 
to the top-boots of yonder cavalry officer, there 
is less of bashful self-consciousness in her 
sweet little face than of grave wonder at the 
foreign accent and strange wa} r s of this new 
figure obtruded upon her limited horizon. She 
answers honestly, frankly, prettily, but grave- 


238 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 

ly. There is a remote possibility that I might 
bite ; and, with this suspicion plainly indicated 
in her round blue e}*es, she quietly slips her 
little red hand from mine, and moves solemnly 
away. I remember once to have stopped in 
the street with a fair counfay woman of mine to 
interrogate a little figure in sabots , — the one 
quaint object in the long, formal perspective 
of narrow, gray bastard-Italian fa 9 aded houses 
of a Rhenish German Strasse. The sweet 
little figure wore a dark-blue woollen petticoat 
that came to its knees ; graj' woollen stockings 
covered the shapely little limbs below ; and its 
very blonde hair, the color of a bright dande- 
lion, was tied in a pathetic little knot at the 
back of its round head, and garnished with an 
absurd green ribbon. Now, although this 
gentlewoman’s S3’mpathies were catholic and 
universal, unfortunately their expression was 
limited to her own mother- tongue. She could 
not help pouring out upon the child the mater- 
nal love that was in her own womanly breast, 
nor could she withhold the “baby-talk” through 
which it was expressed. But, alas ! it was in 
English. Hence ensued a colloquy, tender 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 239 


and extravagant on the part of the elder, 
grave and wondering on the part of the child. 
But the lady had a natural feminine desire for 
reciprocity, particularly in the presence of our 
emotion-scorning sex, and as a last resource 
she emptied the small silver of her purse into 
the lap of the coy maiden. It was a declara- 
tion of love, susceptible of translation at the 
nearest cake-shop. But the little maid, whose 
dress and manner certainly did not betray an 
habitual disregard of gifts of this kind, looked 
at the coin thoughtfully, but not regretfully. 
Some innate sense of dut}~, equally strong with 
that of being polite to strangers, filled her 
consciousness. With the utterly unexpected 
remark that her father did not allow her to take 
money , the queer little figure moved away, 
leaving the two Americans covered with morti- 
fication. The rare American child who could 
have done this would have done it with an 
attitude. This little German bourgeoise did 
it naturally. I do not intend to rush to the 
deduction that German children of the lower 
classes habitually refuse pecuniary gratuities : 
indeed, I remember to have wickedly suggested 


240 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 

to my companion, that, to avoid impoverish- 
ment in a foreign land, she should not repeat 
the story nor the experiment. But I simply 
offer it as a fact, and to an American, at 
home or abroad, a novel one. 

I owe to these little figures another experi- 
ence quite as strange. It was at the close of 
a dull winter’s day, — a day from which all 
out-of-door festivity seemed to be naturally 
excluded : there was a baleful promise of snow 
in the air and a dismal reminiscence of it 
under foot, when suddenly, in striking contrast 
with the dreadful bleakness of the street, a 
half-dozen children, masked and bedizened 
with cheap ribbons, spangles, and embroidery, 
flashed across my Spion. I was quick to 
understand the phenomenon. It was the Car- 
nival season. Only the night before I had 
been to the great opening masquerade, — a 
famous affair, for which this art-loving city is 
noted, and to which strangers are drawn from 
all parts of the Continent. I remember to 
have wondered if the pleasure-loving German 
in America had not broken some of his con- 
rentional shackles in emigration ; for certainly 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 241 


I had found the Carnival balls of the u Lieder 
Kranz Society” in New York, although deco- 
rous and fashionable to the American taste, to 
be wild dissipations compared with the prac- 
tical seriousness of this native performance, 
and I hailed the presence of these children 
in the open street as a promise of some ex- 
travagance, real, untrammelled, and charac- 
teristic. I seized m3" hat and — overcoat , — a 
dreadful incongruit}' to the spangles that had 
whisked b}", — and followed the vanishing fig- 
ures round the corner. Here the} T were re-en- 
forced b} r a dozen men and women, fantasti- 
cally, but not expensivel}" amiyed, looking not 
unlike the supernumeraries of some provincial 
opera troupe. Following the crowd, which 
already began to pour in from the side-streets, 
in a few moments I was in the broad, grove-like 
allee , and in the midst of the masqueraders. 

I remember to have been told that this was 
a characteristic annual celebration of the lower 
classes, anticipated with eagerness, and 
achieved with difficult}", indeed, often only 
through the alternative of pawning clothing 
and furniture to provide the means for this 


242 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 


ephemeral transformation. I remember being 
warned, also, that the buffoonery was coarse, 
and some of the slang hardly fit for u ears 
polite. ” But I am afraid that I was not 
shocked at the prodigality of these poor peo- 
ple, who purchased a holiday on such hard 
conditions ; and, as to the coarseness of the 
performance, I felt that I certainly might go 
where these children could. 

At first the masquerading figures appeared 
to be mainly composed of young girls of ages 
varying from nine to eighteen. Their cos- 
tumes — if what was often only the addition of 
a broad, bright-colored stripe to the hem of a 
short dress could be called a costume — were 
plain, and seemed to indicate no particular 
historical epoch or character. A general sug- 
gestion of the peasant’s holida}’ attire was 
dominant in all the costumes. Everybody 
was closely masked. All carried a short, gayly- 
striped baton of split wood, called a Pritsclie , 
which, when struck sharply on the back or 
shoulders of some spectator or sister-masker, 
emitted a clattering, rasping sound. To wan- 
der hand in hand down this broad allee , to 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 243 

strike almost mechanicalty, and often monoto- 
nously, at each other with their batons , seemed 
to be the extent of that wild dissipation. The 
crowd thickened. Young men with false noses, 
hideous masks, cheap black or red cotton 
dominoes, soldiers in uniform, crowded past 
each other up and down the promenade, all 
canying a Pritsche, and exchanging blows with 
each other, but always with the same slow 
seriousness of demeanor, which, with their 
silence, gave the performance the effect of a 
religious rite. Occasionally some one shouted : 
perhaps a dozen young fellows broke out in 
song ; but the shout was provocative of noth- 
ing, the song faltered as if the singers were 
frightened at their own voices. One blithe 
fellow, with a bear’s head on his fur-capped 
shoulders, began to dance ; but, on the crowd 
stopping to observe him seriously, he appar- 
ently thought better of it, and slipped away. 
Nevertheless, the solemn beating of Pritsche 
over each other’s backs went on. I remember 
that I was followed the whole length of the 
allee by a little girl scarcely twelve years old, 
in a bright striped skirt and black mask, who 


244 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 


from time to time struck me over the shoulders 
with a regularity and sad persistency that was 
peculiarly irresistible to me ; the more so, as 
X could not help thinking that it was not half 
as amusing to herself. Once only did the or- 
dinal brusque gallantry of the Carnival spirit 
show itself. A man with an enormous pair 
of horns, like a half-civilized satyr, suddenly 
seized a young girl, and endeavored to kiss 
her. A slight struggle ensued, in which I 
fancied I detected in the girl’s face and manner 
the confusion and embarrassment of one who 
was obliged to overlook, or seem to accept, a 
familiarity that w^as distasteful, rather than be 
laughed at for prudishness or ignorance. But 
the incident was exceptional. Indeed, it was 
particularly notable to my American eyes to 
find such decorum where there might easily 
have been the greatest license. I am afraid 
that an American mob of this class would have 
scarcely been as orderly and civil under the 
circumstances. The}' might have shown more 
humor; but there would have probably been 
more effrontery : the}' might have been more 
exuberant ; they would certainly have been 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 245 

drunker. I did not notice a single masque- 
rader unduly excited by liquor : there was not 
a word or motion from the lighter sex that 
could have been construed into an impropriety. 
There was something almost pathetic to me in 
this attempt to wrest gayety and excitement 
out of these dull materials ; to fight against 
the blackness of that wintry sky, and the 
stubborn hardness of the frozen soil, with 
these painted sticks of wood ; to mock the 
dreariness of their poverty with these flaunt- 
ing raiments. It did not seem like them, or 
rather, consistent with my idea of. them. 
There was incongruity deeper than their bi- 
zarre externals ; a half-melancholy, half-crazy 
absurdity in their action, the substitution of a 
grim spasmodic frenzy for levity, that rightly 
or wrongty impressed me. When the increas- 
ing gloom of the evening made their figures 
undistinguishable, I turned into the first cross- 
street. As I lifted my hat to my persistent 
young friend with the Pritsche , I fancied she 
looked as relieved as myself. If, however, I 
was mistaken ; if that child’s pathway through 
life be strewn with rosy recollections of the 


246 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 

unresisting back of the stranger American ; 
if any burden, 0 Gretchen! laid upon thy 
young shoulders, be lighter for the trifling one 
thou didst lay upon mine, — know, then, that I, 
too, am content. 

And so, day by day, has my Spion reflected 
the various changing forms of life before it. 
It has seen the first flush of spring in the 
broad allee, when the shadows of tin} 7 leaflets 
overhead were beginning to checker the cool, 
square flagstones. It has seen the glare and 
fulness of summer sunshine and shadow, the 
flying of November gold through the air, the 
gaunt limbs, and stark, rigid, death-like white- 
ness of winter. It has seen children in their 
queer, wicker baby-carriages, old men and 
women, and occasionally that grim usher of 
death, in sable cloak and cocked hat, — a bale- 
ful figure for the wandering invalid tourist to 
meet, — who acts as undertaker for this ducal 
city, and marshals the last melanchoty proces- 
sion. I well remember my first meeting with 
this ominous functionary. It was an early 
autumnal morning ; so early, that the long 
formal perspective of the allee , and the deco- 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 247 

rous, smooth vanishing-lines of cream-and-gray 
fronted houses, were unrelieved by a single 
human figure. Suddenly a tall black spectre, 
as theatrical and as unreal as the painted 
scenic distance, turned the corner from a cross- 
street, and moved slowly towards me. A long 
black cloak, falling from its shoulders to its 
feet, floated out on either side like sable wings ; 
a cocked hat trimmed with crape, and sur- 
mounted by a hearse-like feather, covered a 
passionless face ; and its eyes, looking neither 
left nor right, were fixed fatefully upon some 
distant goal. Stranger as I was to this Con- 
tinental ceremonial figure, there was no mis- 
taking his functions as the grim messenger, 
knocking “with equal foot” on every door ; 
and, indeed, so perfectly did he act and look 
his role , that there was nothing ludicrous in 
the extraordinary spectacle. Facial expres- 
sion and dignity of bearing were perfect ; the 
whole man seemed saturated with the accepted 
sentiment of his office. Recalling the half- 
confused and half-conscious ostentatious hy- 
pocrisy of the American sexton, the shameless 
absurdities of the English mutes and mourners, 


248 VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 

I could not help feeling, that, if it were de- 
manded that Grief and Fate should be personi- 
fied, it were better that it should be well done. 
And it is one observation of my Spion , that 
this sincerity and belief is the characteristic 
of all Continental functionaries. 

It is possible that my Spion has shown me 
little that is realty characteristic of the people, 
and the few observations I have made I offer 
onty as an illustration of the impressions made 
upon two- thirds of American strangers in the 
larger towns of German}-. Assimilation goes 
on more rapidly than we are led to imagine. 
As I have seen my friend Karl, fresh and 
awkward in his first uniform, lounging later 
down the allee with the blase listlessness of a 
full-blown militaire , so I have seen American 
and English residents gradually lose their 
peculiarities, and melt and merge into the gen- 
eral mass. Returning to my Spion after a 
flying trip through Belgium and France, as 1 
look down the long perspective of the Strasse , 
I am conscious of recalling the same style of 
architecture and humanity at Aachen, Brussels, 
Lille, and Paris, and am inclined to believe 


VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION. 249 

that, even as I would have met, in a journey 
of the same distance through a parallel of the 
same latitude in America, a greater diversity 
of t} pe and character, and a more distinct 
flavor of locality, even so would I have met a 
more heterogeneous and picturesque display 
from a club window on Fifth Avenue, New 
York, or Montgomery Street, San Francisco. 




















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LIBRARY of congress 


0005Eimsti^ 



